


When you love somebody then you stay

by blahblahblahcollapse



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Also Steve is a mess and he's learning, Angst, Billy has a lot of regrets and he's trying to be better, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Grief/Mourning, Homophobic Language, I don't know dude, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Homophobia, Slow Burn, Smoking, Underage Drinking, brief mentions of violence, but god is there a lot of angst, medical inaccuracies probably, pining Billy, there will be a happy ending I promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-27 16:47:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 102,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13252413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blahblahblahcollapse/pseuds/blahblahblahcollapse
Summary: Steve is sick and tired of Hawkins, Indiana. This is something he and Billy Hargrove share in common. It gives them something to bond over, and before he knows it, Steve is considering Billy Hargrove his friend. He must be even more lonely than he thought.Alternatively:I don't know what this is anymore.(Title is from the song Love Somebody by Ta-ku and Wafia)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Positive feedback motivates me, so please let me know if this is something you're interested in reading more of. ;)
> 
> PS - Since this is largely incomplete, I haven't tagged much because I still don't know what tags will be required. But I don't intend on having anything super controversial in this and I'll definitely tag more as I get further into it.

Steve isn’t altogether sure how it started, this tentative friendship (can he call it a friendship?) with Billy Hargrove. Sure, he knows the progression of events that led to them hanging out but he can’t tell you _why_ they took place.

If you’d told him four months ago that he’d be spending his Saturday night sitting in the old cemetery with Billy, passing a joint back and forth and taking the piss out of everyone and everything in Hawkins, he would’ve gone into hysterics. After all, this is the same guy who beat his face to a pulp five months ago.

Technically, Billy had apologized for that. Spat it out one afternoon in the locker room, but you could hardly call it adequate. Still, there was a sincerity in Billy’s expression that he couldn’t pretend he didn’t see.

Steve was the last to leave the shower that day, stepping into the locker room to find only Billy still there, examining a bruise on his side in the mirror of his locker. Steve sucked in a breath at the sight of the ugly purple and blue thing that stretched from his hip all the way up to his ribcage like big splashes of watercolor. Billy looked like a deer caught in headlights when his eyes met Steve’s face through the mirror. He immediately dropped his arms, looking away and shifting a bit to hide his side from Steve’s view as he fished a t-shirt out of his locker.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” He barked out and Steve realized he was still staring, wide-eyed, and maybe a touch concerned. It was true that Billy liked a fight. He was always the first to initiate a tussle on the court, but Steve couldn’t think of any falls severe enough to explain away that bruise. He had to wonder, then, where it came from. Dustin had made a remark or two in the past about Max’s step-dad, Billy’s dad, being a real ass, but a violent temper was never mentioned.

It’s just as likely Billy got that bruise in a brawl in some seedy bar outside of town, where people didn’t know he was underage. That doesn’t explain how horrified Billy looked at being found with his side on full display, though. If it was from a brawl, wouldn’t he gloat about it?

“Sorry,” Steve muttered, shaking his head and walking over to his own locker. Tension sat thick between them as they got dressed. Steve searched his brain for something to say, absolutely anything to break that tension, but he realized that it wasn’t only Billy’s embarrassment at being caught that made the whole situation so goddamn uncomfortable. It was the fact that he could still feel the scab on the inside of his lip where Billy’s knuckles had cut it open. It was the ache he still felt in his ribs when he coughed or sneezed a little too hard, and the scar at his hairline from where Billy had smashed a plate over his head in the Byers’ house three weeks ago. Steve didn’t feel awkward, he felt scared. He hadn’t been alone in a room with Billy since the fight and he was terrified of saying or doing the wrong thing and setting Billy off.

He glanced up to see that Billy was staring at him, at his chest, where the bruises from their fight still mottled his pale skin, faded yellow and green now. Billy’s complexion was paler than usual, his expression a bit frantic as his eyes tracked across Steve’s chest and then up to his eyes. He coughed, looked away, then met Steve’s eyes again.

“I’m, uh,” he mumbled, voice so quiet that Steve wouldn’t have heard him if there was any other sound in the room . “Sorry...I’m sorry, for uh...for that.” He looked away as soon as he said it, turning back to his locker to grab his keys before slamming it shut. It was obvious he wasn’t used to apologizing, and Steve didn't know how to respond. He waited a few beats, kind of hoping Billy would walk out and not require a response from him. But he didn’t leave, instead he pulled the pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket and took one out to place it between his lips, turning back around to face Steve. His expression was less frantic then, more expectant. And that pissed Steve off. He was so sick of people being complete assholes and then giving him half-assed apologies like that was the best he deserved.

“What, were you raised in a barn, Hargrove?” He said, regretting it even as the words tumbled out. “Is that really what you call an apology?” For a split second he considered taking it back, but then he remembered Billy’s words - _“Plant your feet, Harrington.”_ And so he didn’t falter, despite the fear boiling in his stomach. Instead, he met Billy’s eyes with a steady glare and bolstered himself for whatever came next.

Billy’s lips tightened into a thin, unamused line, eyebrows furrowed in irritation, and his eyes raked over Steve like he was sizing him up, considering where to hit first. Steve felt like such a fucking idiot. He’d provoked the bear again, and there was absolutely no one there to stab Billy with a syringe full of sedative when he was about two punches away from causing permanent brain damage.

Steve Harrington had faced actual supernatural monsters and survived but he was going to fucking die there in that locker room. All because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut, couldn’t stamp down the anger that coursed through his veins at receiving yet another bullshit apology.

Except he didn’t die that day. Because Billy never threw a punch, didn’t so much as offer a scathing response. His expression went from sheer anger to eerily calm in an instant, and the fist at his side unclenched in favor of pulling his lighter out and lighting the cigarette between his lips.

“See you around, Harrington.” He breathed out with a lungful of smoke, smirking, and left the locker room with no further ceremony. Steve didn’t leave for another ten minutes, too shocked that he was left standing there, unscathed.

-

Ever since the fight at the Byers’ house, Billy had mostly steered clear of Steve. Apparently in his mind, Steve was categorized as one of Max’s friends he could no longer mess with. But after their conversation in the locker room that afternoon, Billy resumed harassing Steve in the halls, only this time it felt pointedly different. There was less bite to it. It was almost...playful? Steve had to uncomfortably acknowledge that fact after about a week of it. He didn’t particularly care for the way Billy had taken to calling him “pretty boy” sometimes instead of “Harrington” but he had to admit that it was nice to not be on edge every time Billy walked into a classroom or bumped into him in the halls.

There was never anything particularly important or interesting about their exchanges, most of the time it was Billy throwing snide remarks in his direction and Steve shooting back sarcastic responses that left a smirk on Billy’s face as he walked away. The actual hanging out didn’t happen until Billy spent a solid month goading Steve into showing up at the Spring Break party at Tommy’s house.

Steve hadn’t been to a house party, or any social event with his peers for that matter, since the Halloween party last year. He immediately remembered why when he stepped into Tommy’s house for the first time in even longer; loud music blaring through the expensive speakers in the living room and all of his classmates pressed close together, beer sloshing out of their red cups as they danced. None of these people were his friends. He barely tolerated them on good days at school.

There was a time when he was the one hyping up these parties, when he would show up a little late and make as much commotion as possible until every last person in the room noticed him. He thrived on the attention, absolutely craved it, because lord knows he wasn’t getting it in that big, empty house in Loch Nora. He was “King Steve”, as Billy liked to mock. On top of the world, and no one could knock him down.

And then Nancy Wheeler grabbed his attention. She grabbed, and she pulled, and pulled, until he fell heart first into arms that he realized way too late were always a bit reluctant. She was the first girl he had fallen that hard for. Everyone before her had merely been a distraction from the loneliness that gnawed at his chest when he spent too many nights at home alone. Nancy Wheeler had felt like the real deal. She was the perfect mixture of sweet and sour, just enough sugar to melt his ego with plenty of wit to keep things interesting. She was the kind of girl you wanted to meet your parents, the kind of girl you could picture a future with.

They weren’t entirely wrong, the kids at school, when they said she was ultimately to blame for the downfall of “King Steve”. But despite the sting of the heartbreak she left him with, he knows it’s not completely true. Something about facing certain death at the claws of monsters from another dimension not once, but twice, tends to make you step back and really take stock of things. He couldn’t be “King Steve” forever, and the last thing he wanted was to become that deadbeat who always talked about “the good old days of High School” to anyone who would listen.

He’d only taken a few steps into the house when he heard Billy yell “King Steve!” from somewhere deep inside the crowd of gyrating teenagers. Before he could figure out exactly where Billy’s voice was coming from, a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, nearly knocking the wind out of him. He glanced over to see Billy at his side, glassy-eyed but somehow still looking like he’d stepped out of one of those vogue magazines scattered throughout Nancy’s room.

Steve had always been a bit obsessed with his own looks, but his vanity waned in the shadow of Billy’s. He doesn’t think he’s ever met someone who puts more effort into the way they present themselves than Billy Hargrove. And he has to admit, albeit with a bit of hesitation, it really works in Billy’s favor. The guy is fucking gorgeous, all big blue eyes framed by the longest lashes Steve’s ever seen in his life, and soft, blonde curls, the perfect length for tangling your fingers in. And then of course he has the body of a Greek god, which he isn’t afraid to show off in his tight jeans and shirts that are always unbuttoned down to his stomach, like he knows his rock solid abs are one of his best assets and he needs to remind people of them at all times. Steve’s never outright admitted to himself that he maybe thinks guys can be as attractive as girls, but you don’t have to be a queer to see that Billy’s real easy on the eyes.

“Keg stands, what d’you say?” Billy practically yelled in his ear, and Steve winced despite his attempts to look unbothered by his surroundings. It’s amazing how quickly you can become unaccustomed to something that used to be a normal part of your life.

“Nah, man, I’m too sober for that right now.” Steve replied, much quieter, but Billy’s face was less than a foot away from his, so he figured he should be able to hear him fine.

“Let’s get you a beer, then!” Billy nodded and turned to the room at large, cupping his hands over his mouth as he shouted. “Someone get King Steve a beer!” In a matter of seconds, someone was forcing a beer into Steve’s hand and Billy was grinning at him expectantly. Steve lifted the cup as if to say “Cheers”, and then chugged it. By the time he finished that one, Billy was already handing him another, and by beer number four he felt just warm and pliant enough to agree to a keg stand.

He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he did a keg stand, and he wasn’t sure if he could even do one still; but he was teetering on the edge of drunk and Billy challenged him to see who could last the longest, and Steve’s never been one to turn down a competition., So he grabbed the handles of the keg in front of him and let whoever was behind him lift his legs until he was upside down. He glanced to his left, where Billy was getting into position himself and his beer-addled brain fixated on Billy’s full, pink lips as they wrapped around the tap. He didn’t have time to think too hard about what that meant, though, as Tommy H. called his attention back to the tap of his own keg.

The room was still so fucking crowded, and everyone was cheering them on enthusiastically, it was a bit overwhelming for Steve, who’d spent the last eight Friday nights alone at home. Someone shouted “Go!” and the room erupted into people counting out each second as Steve concentrated on gulping down beer while breathing in and out through his nose, hoping to god the two actions didn’t get mixed up.

He tapped out at thirty-seven seconds, blood rushing to his head as he got back onto his feet and turned to watch Billy make it to exactly sixty seconds. The roar that erupted over the crowd of teenagers when he finally tapped out was enough to make Steve’s ears ring a bit. Billy was grinning at him after righting himself, blue eyes practically sparkling with pride, and something warm and unfamiliar, though not unpleasant, spread from Steve’s head down into his gut. He clapped Billy on the shoulder and joined in with the cheering of his fellow classmates. Someone turned up the music and Steve entered into the fray of the dance floor, the buzz of alcohol coursing through his veins as he danced. It felt so damn good to let go for a bit, and in that moment he thought maybe he missed this more than he had realized.

-

Steve normally spent his Friday nights out at the old cemetery, sitting by a gravestone marked “Jules Anderson” and taking tentative sips of whiskey out of the bottle he’d snagged from his dad’s liquor cabinet. It was so much better than sitting in that stuffy old house, where too many shadows awaited him and strange noises from the foundation settling kept him up at night. He always felt like he was suffocating there, like something dark was coiling in his throat, blocking his airway, and it was only a matter of minutes before he’d run out of oxygen and pass out. Out here he could breathe, concentrate on the cool spring breeze as it brushed against his face, and let his mind wander somewhere far away from Hawkins. Jules was a good listener, too. Always had been.

But Tommy’s Spring Break party was on the first Friday of break, when excitement over the long-awaited break was at its peak, and then Dustin invited him to play D&D at the Wheeler’s, which happened every Saturday. He always considered turning it down but he never could say no to that little shithead when he pulled out the puppy-dog eyes.

If he’s being honest with himself, he sort of liked hanging out with those nerds. Something about their interactions with him tended to feel a bit stilted, and he often wondered if Dustin was the only one that actually wanted him there, but they’re pretty funny kids. He liked watching the way they got super worked up over genuinely inconsequential things. Loved the way Dustin made sarcastic remarks at Lucas’ expense and Lucas got embarrassed because _“Seriously, dude, Max is sitting right there.”_

Will was always the quietest of the group, even quieter than Eleven, who never said much but she certainly knew how to make her presence known in an argument. Steve obviously didn’t even know these kids before last year, so he didn’t know much about Will at all but he often wondered if Will’s always been that quiet or if it’s a new thing. Judging by the way everyone kind of tiptoed around him even in the midst of their boisterous arguing, it was likely a newer thing.

Max fit right into the group, too. If Steve didn’t know better, he would think she’d been around for as long as the rest of them. She’s loud, and assertive, and she and Mike go at it like brother and sister until Eleven is forced to play peacemaker. After the past few weeks of interacting with a more subdued Billy, Steve could see the ways in which she took after him. He would never say as much to her, because he knows it’s the absolute last thing she’d want to hear, but he could see it nonetheless.

He still doesn’t really understand the appeal of D&D and he’d lost count of the amount of times Dustin’s tried to explain it to him, or the number of times Mike has ripped him a new one for fucking something up in their quest. But Dustin keeps inviting him to join them, and he really is a bit of a sucker for those shitheads.

So he spent his Saturday night being berated by a group of middle schoolers and biting his tongue when he ran into Jonathan and Nancy in the kitchen, sitting at the table, heads close together as they share a plate of cookies or some shit. They’d been nice enough - Nancy saying “Hi,” and asking him how he’s been. He gave the same clipped answers as he always did, tired of the concern in her eyes. He ended the conversation by leveling her with a glare after question number ten, and said:

“I’m not here to see you, Nance.” And she’s a smart girl, so she took that as the cue to stop that it was.

On Sunday night Steve’s mom was actually home and she decided that they should have a movie night. His mom loves the classics, and she’s a huge fan of Cary Grant in particular, so he ended up sitting in the den with her until midnight, watching Philadelphia Story and North by Northwest back to back. Time with his mom is never as nice as he wants it to be, because at the end of the day he doesn’t really know her at all, and she doesn’t know him. But he likes the classics as much as she does, and Cary Grant was probably the first man he ever had a crush on, so he’s not really going to complain.

Monday was the first night he got to himself, so he nicked a bottle of whiskey from his dad’s liquor cabinet. The key was to switch between which bottle you take every time, that way the volume of each one wouldn’t decrease enough to raise suspicion. He made his way over to the cemetery and got there just in time to watch the sunset with Jules.

Few people know or remember this, but Jules was one of Steve’s many nannies growing up. She basically raised him from age seven to ten (the longest amount of time any nanny was with him). She was so much more than a nanny to him, though. He considered her to be his mother more than his real mother, though he would never dare to say so out loud. He learned his lesson when he was five and called his nanny at the time “mom” because he genuinely forgot who his real mother was. She was fired the next day, and his mom spent an entire weekend fussing over him and pretending that she gave a fuck. Then Monday came, and he was introduced to Cindy. She was nanny number three, and he went through two more before Jules came around.

Jules was a bit older than his other nannies, maybe a few years younger than his own grandmother, but she was vivacious and could run around with him for hours without breaking a sweat. To this day, he’s never known a person more loving, patient, and graceful than Jules Anderson. She was the rock he’d never had, always there to wipe his tears, to bandage up his scrapes and bruises, to kiss him on the cheek after tucking him in every night and tell him how good he was. She got sick when he was nine and a half. It was colon cancer, and her health deteriorated quickly. He was old enough at that point to understand what was happening, to have patience when she couldn’t chase him around the park anymore or when she needed him to make lunch for them on her really bad days.

Steve’s parents didn’t even realize how sick she was until she collapsed in the kitchen one hot, summer afternoon. Steve had been swimming in the pool and she stepped inside to get some more lemonade. He went looking for her when he realized it had been over ten minutes since she disappeared. And he found her on the floor by the island in the kitchen, blood mixing with lemonade from where the glass pitcher had shattered and a shard cut her arm as she fell. He called 911, because he’d known how to do that since Cindy taught him at age five, and sat in the waiting room for four hours before his parents finally showed up.

Jules never came back to the house, and Steve’s mom only let him visit her once in the hospital before she passed. It’s been seven years now, and he misses her something awful. He doesn’t think that ache will ever go away. But coming out here, sitting by her gravestone and imagining the conversations they might have now helps, if only marginally. He spends a lot of time wondering if Jules would be proud of who he is today. He kind of doubts it, especially as he took his fifth sip of whiskey that night and felt it burn all the way down to his stomach. He always talks to her about himself anyway, because it’s therapeutic for him in a way, to get all of his thoughts outside of his head. And lord knows he doesn’t have anyone else to talk to.


	2. Chapter 2

The next few days passed by uneventfully. On Tuesday he went to the Quarry with Dustin and the other nerds. They spent all day soaking up the rare bit of sun that they were getting and splashing around in the ice-cold water until they were exhausted and said sun had turned their faces all varying shades of red. Steve swears he lectured them on the importance of sunscreen at least eight times throughout the day, but clearly it wasn’t enough to drive the message into their thick skulls. He took them back to the Byers’ house with two giant tubs of ice cream and a box of ice cream cones. He fully intended to just drop them off, go home, and sleep for the next two days, but then Joyce invited him in and Dustin convinced him to stay and watch  _ Indiana Jones  _ with them, so he ended up crashing on the Byers’ couch that night and spent the next morning helping the kids patch up some holes in Castle Byers.

The remainder of Wednesday and all of Thursday were spent at home, sleeping in and then obsessively cleaning the entire house because sometimes Steve gets anxious and cleaning helps calm his nerves. And then Friday rolled around, and he had absolutely no plans for the weekend. He’d managed to distract himself sufficiently for the past two days, but he knew it was only a matter of hours before he reached the end of himself.

Ever since that night when Eleven closed the gate to the Upside Down, being alone had become increasingly more difficult for him. He started to hear things, imagine shadows in places where they didn’t belong, and panic would settle into his chest like an old friend he didn’t remember inviting in.

Much like Billy Hargrove, who showed up at his door around sunset.

He was dressed in his usual tight jeans and short-sleeved button down with the sleeves rolled up, buttons undone all the way down to his belly button. The only thing missing was his leather jacket because they were having abnormally warm weather for March in Indiana. Steve sometimes forgot how pretty Billy was when he didn’t see him for a few days, but that was besides the point. What struck him most was the fact that Billy actually knew where he  _ lived _ , and how horrified he would have been to learn that only a few months ago. To be honest, it still made him a bit nervous now. Sure, Billy seemed to have moved on from antagonizing him with any real vitriol, but he was still the same aggressive guy who could have easily killed Steve four months ago if Max hadn’t been clever enough to stop him. He didn’t get the impression that Billy would do that again now, but Billy Hargrove was the definition of a loose canon. So, yeah, the idea that he both knew where Steve lived and wasn’t afraid to show up on his doorstep at random still made Steve a little nervous. That didn’t stop him, however, from saying the following:

“What the fuck are you doing here, Hargrove?” Billy had a smirk on his face when Steve first opened the door, and it faltered a bit at Steve’s words.

“I’ve been cooped up in that shithole my parents call home all weekend, Harrington,” Billy recovered quickly, a lopsided grin firmly back in place on his lips as he replied. “Thought I’d come see how the rich folk live.”

“We only do tours on Saturdays and Sundays.” Steve rolled his eyes and moved to close the door, because even though he was grateful for the distraction, this is what they do. He didn’t miss the way Billy’s face faltered again as the door swung to close in his face, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t make him happy in some twisted way. As far as he had seen, Billy only had two modes: Angry as all hell or completely cool and unattached. He hadn’t seen a crack in Billy’s demeanor since that afternoon in the locker room when he offered a half-assed apology for busting Steve’s face open. He wondered if anyone else had ever managed to get under Billy’s skin like he apparently could.

“St-Harrington, c’mon,” Billy stuttered as his hand landed on the door with a loud smack, effectively stopping it. Steve pulled the door open and leaned against it, resting his other hand on his hip as he looked at Billy expectantly.

“There’s a party at Settler’s barn,” Billy continued when he realized Steve wasn’t going to say anything, all cool confidence again. “What d’you say?”

“Eh…” Steve shrugged, twisting his mouth up like he’d eaten something sour. “I’m not really feeling that tonight.” And he wasn’t entirely lying. Last Friday had been fun, and he could admit that he kind of missed it already, but the thought of being around all those people again made something uneasy twist in his gut.

“King Steve is ready to abdicate the throne again already?” Billy said, one eyebrow cocked.

“Abdicate, huh? That’s an awful big word for you, Hargrove,” Steve responded, tone right on the edge between mocking and teasing. The genuine, amused smile he got in return was unexpected, but well worth it. Billy’s smile was nice when it was real, the kind that made your insides go all warm and squishy. There was a beat of silence as Billy turned his chin up and gave Steve a skeptical once over.

“Seriously, man,” Billy said at length. “I know you enjoyed that party last Friday. You’re not fooling anyone. You miss it.” Steve furrowed his brow in irritation at that. Billy wasn’t wrong, but Steve didn’t need him knowing that.

“I’ve got a six pack in my car, we can shotgun a few before we even get there,” Billy added, smirking again. “Also, I hear the bitches at this thing are practically in heat, all that pent-up energy from the break.” His eyebrows rose up suggestively and Steve really glared at him then.

“You’re disgusting, Hargrove,” he said, but Billy kept looking at him expectantly and Steve considered the alternative if he didn’t go: a night spent alone with all the lights on in this big, empty house, TV blasting to distract from the things that go bump in the night. Getting drunk in an abandoned barn on the outskirts of town didn’t sound nearly as daunting. So he found himself agreeing, and Billy tried to look neutral about his decision but it was obvious he was pleased.

“I’m not going like this, so you’ll have to wait a minute.” Steve said as he stepped aside and waved Billy into the house. “Just don’t-” he yanked the ornate, glass bowl Billy picked up from the entryway table back and set it down carefully, glaring at him. “Touch anything.” Billy lifted both hands up in surrender, amused grin on his face.

“I’ll be back in a few.” Steve said, heading up the stairs.

“You got a bathroom in this joint?” Billy asked. “Gotta take a piss.”

“Yeah, it’s just down that hall, to the left.” Steve nodded, watching Billy disappear down the hall that led back to his kitchen, and thinking this had to be the most bizarre situation he’d ever found himself in. And he’s literally got a bat full of nails in his trunk that he’s used not once, but  _ twice _ , to fight off interdimensional demons.

-

It was twenty minutes before Steve made his way back downstairs. Hair like his didn’t just happen, you know. He hoped it wasn’t too obvious how much he’d fretted over his outfit before finally settling on a dark green sweater and blue jeans.

Billy was sitting on the kitchen island when Steve finally found him, six pack of beer dwindled down to four beside him. He had an unlit cigarette tucked behind his ear and he was shuffling a deck of cards absently as he bobbed his head to whatever song was playing over the radio on the other side of the kitchen.

“Make yourself at home?” Steve said, folding his arms over his chest and leaning against the doorway.

“Took you long enough,” Billy bit back, picking up a beer and chucking it at Steve without any warning. Steve barely managed to catch it, and Billy grinned as he watched him fumble, then gestured to the pocket knife on the counter with his chin. Steve picked up the knife, punctured the can in his hand, and popped the tab before tipping it up to his mouth quickly and chugging the whole thing. Billy didn’t say anything as he picked up another beer and tossed it to him.

After polishing off three beers, Steve was feeling a little looser, so he didn’t really think about it too much before jumping up to sit on the counter beside Billy and reaching out to grab the cigarette from behind Billy’s ear. Billy’s hand shot up, grabbing his wrist almost reflexively, and squeezing tight enough to bruise. Steve flinched as Billy glared at him, nostrils flared and breathing hard like he’d just finished running a mile. He didn’t really know what to say to diffuse the situation, didn’t really understand what had set Billy off. He thought they were having an okay time. Billy seemed so much calmer, almost happy, here in Steve’s kitchen, shotgunning beers and taking the piss out of the shitty music on the radio. Steve thought a smoke sounded nice, thought Billy probably wouldn’t mind one himself.

“Sorry, man,” he said at length, tone careful. “Can I…have my arm back?” It was a split second before Billy blinked, as if coming back to himself, and his eyes looked a bit frantic as he dropped Steve’s wrist and turned his gaze to some spot over Steve’s shoulder, refusing to look him in the eye.

“We should-“ Billy started, then cleared his throat and tried again. “We should get going.” He hopped down, slapping his hands on the countertop loudly, making Steve jump a little, and then heading toward the front door. Steve stared after him for a moment, wondering what the fuck that was.

“C’mon, pretty boy, we’ve got a party to get to!” Billy called from the foyer, snapping Steve out of his head. Steve jumped down from the counter and followed Billy out of the house, careful to make sure he locked up. He wasn’t really sure how to feel about getting in a car with Billy after that, but he’d already agreed to going and he figured even if Billy drove him out to some empty field where he could murder him, it was still better than being alone again.

Neither boy said anything as Billy sped down old country roads, music blaring through the speakers, and Steve didn’t mind at all. The beer was starting to wear off a bit, but Billy had offered him a cigarette - the same one from behind his ear - and that helped calm his nerves.

By the time they got to the old barn, the party was in full swing. Someone had brought an old boombox out and Queen was playing as loudly as it would go from one end of the place while teenagers milled about around a big bonfire. The air was thick with the smell of firewood, beer, and cigarette smoke. Steve found it oddly comforting and nostalgic.

Billy made a big commotion as they walked in, yelling something that Steve honestly wasn’t paying attention to because he was immediately distracted by the sight of Jonathan and Nancy sitting on a hay bail on the other side of the fire. They looked so fucking cozy under the blanket draped over their shoulders, red cups in their hands, whispering back and forth to each other as they watched the scene around them. Nancy’s eyes met Steve’s almost immediately, and she glanced from him to Billy, who was still making a ruckus, and then back to Steve. There was a question in her gaze, mixed with what looked like concern. which pissed him off. Since when did she give a fuck about him?

He rolled his eyes and turned back toward Billy, who was already chugging something from a red cup while everyone around them chanted “Chug! Chug! Chug!”

“Hey,” he tapped the arm of a kid chanting beside him. “Where can I get one of those?” The kid motioned somewhere to his left and Steve went off in search of something to shut off the part of his brain that wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out.

-

Steve had no idea how much time had passed, and he’d lost count of how many drinks he’d had. Which is why when Nancy grabbed his arm and pulled him off to the side, away from all the commotion, he didn’t immediately retaliate.

“How many of those have you had?” She asked, tone a bit too judgmental for his taste as she grabbed the red cup from his hand and dumped its contents into the grass.

“Shit, Nance,” Steve whined as he yanked the cup back and stared into it like he’d still find something there. “I was drinking that!”

“I think you’ve had enough, Steve,” she said.

“You’re not my mother,” he bit back.

“No, but I’m still worried about you.” She replied, and she sounded so sincere that it made anger flare in his gut.

“Fuck you.” He spat out, and he was too far gone to tell if it came out as venomous as he meant it to.

“Seriously?” She rolled her eyes. “I can see Billy is rubbing off on you.” And that  _ really _ pissed him off. He and Billy weren’t friends, hell they’d only hung out once now, and he certainly wasn’t dumb enough to feel any particular protectiveness toward the guy. So no, he wasn’t pissed off for Billy’s sake, he was pissed off because she was trying to shift the blame onto anyone other than herself. As if Billy’s shitty attitude was to blame for the fact that Steve kind of hated her. As if her own behavior hadn’t merited his response. Where the hell did she get off pretending she’d done nothing wrong? As if she hadn’t literally taken his heart and shit all over it?

He was drunk and angry and all of the hurt of the past five months was coiling in his chest, rearing its ugly head and making it impossible for him to feel anything but hatred toward her in that moment. Before he had a chance to second guess his actions, both of his hands were coming up to meet her shoulders and he was pushing her, much harder than he really meant to.

A couple of things happened in rapid succession after that, and Steve was too drunk to really register any of it. But he remembers her falling down into the hay bail at her feet, and he remembers Jonathan grabbing him by the shirt and shouting “What the fuck, man?” in his face.

He remembers yelling “Fuck off!” right back and then throwing a punch, which he couldn’t say whether or not it actually connected with Jonathan’s face. Then he remembers strong hands gripping his biceps and pulling him back into a solid wall of muscle. He remembers yelling “Fuck you! Fuck you both!” until his throat felt raw, being pulled away from the scene by hands that were wrapped so tight around his arms they were probably going to bruise.

Billy didn’t let go until they reached his car, where he opened the passenger door and shoved Steve inside before climbing into the driver’s side himself. They sat in silence for several minutes, Steve trying to catch his breath and Billy gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles turned white. He looked so fucking angry, but like he was trying to contain it for once, and Steve didn’t really understand why. This had nothing to do with him.

“What the fuck was that about, man?” Billy asked at length, turning to look at Steve, and Steve hated the way his eyes raked over Steve’s face, almost like he was checking to make sure he was okay.

“Can you just take me home?” Steve snapped at him. Billy watched him for another minute, silent and considering, before finally nodding and starting up the car.

Steve passed out somewhere between the barn and his house, waking only when Billy opened his door and shook his shoulder several times. Steve stared up at him through half-lidded eyes. Why were his eyes so heavy all the sudden?

“You wanna get out of my car now, or what?” Billy said, and Steve felt himself nodding, but he didn’t move beyond that. All of his limbs felt heavy, too. Billy rolled his eyes and reached over him to undo his seatbelt before grabbing him around the waist and pulling him out of the car. The journey to his front door was a blur. He remembers Billy having to reach into his back pocket to fish out his house key - remembers the shiver that sent up his spine - and he remembers practically being carried up the stairs to his room. Billy dropped him onto his bed, and Steve crawled the rest of the way to his pillows, face-planting and passing out as soon as he reached them.

At some point Billy must have taken his shoes off. When he woke up briefly in the middle of the night he was alone, but there was a glass of water on his nightstand next to a bottle of ibuprofen.

-

Steve woke up on Saturday morning with a raging hangover, complete with a pounding headache, severe nausea, and the taste of death in his mouth. It took a few minutes for the events of the previous night catch up with him, but when they did his stomach rolled even more with shame. What Nancy had done wasn’t cool, sure, but he was definitely wrong to push her like he did. Steve had never really been the kind of guy to get physically violent like that, not with a girl, anyway. He preferred to use his words to cut where it hurt. But the alcohol had clouded his judgement and he was so angry, it felt like the only thing he could do in the moment. He knew that he was going to have to apologize at some point. But not yet. He needed to curl up in bed and wish death upon himself for a while, because that would honestly be a kinder fate than what he was currently up against.

After lying there for several hours, his entire body heavy as lead and aching, he finally forced himself to get out of bed and make some food. He scrambled up some eggs and managed to take about three bites before throwing them back up. He’d never been that fucking hungover in his life. He regretted absolutely every life choice he had made up to that point. But he was used to playing nurse for himself, so he grabbed a ginger ale from the fridge and a sleeve of saltines from the pantry, set them on a tray with what remained of his eggs, and took everything into the den. He cozied up under a mountain of blankets and watched MTV until he fell back to sleep.

When he woke up again it was nearly sunset and he was finally feeling well enough to get off his ass and take a shower. He probably stood in the shower for way too long, letting his mind go blank as he zoned out under the steady stream of hot water.

The phone was ringing when he finally got out and he stubbed his toe on the foot of his bed in his scramble to pick up.

“Hello?” he asked into the receiver, dropping onto his bed so he could grab his foot and fuss over it a bit.

“Steve!” Dustin yelled from the other end and Steve’s head started pounding again.

“What do you want, dipshit?” Steve asked, rolling his eyes. Dustin knows as well as Steve does that he means ‘dipshit’ as a term of endearment. Though if anyone ever called him out on it, he’d absolutely lie through his teeth about it.

“You coming tonight?” Dustin responded and Steve felt his stomach fall into his bladder. Tonight, meaning D&D night at the Wheeler’s. He’d promised Dustin on Tuesday that he’d be there and he had every intention of keeping that promise. But then last night happened. There’s no way he could face Nancy again this soon.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry, man, I….I can’t…” Steve said, running his free hand over his face.

“Son of a bitch,” Dustin sighed. “You promised, man.”

“I know,” Steve nodded to no one in particular. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“Could you at least give me a ride still?” Dustin asked.

“Yeah, of course,” Steve answered. “You know I wouldn’t leave you hanging.”

“You kind of are, Steve.” Dustin said and Steve could practically see the disappointed look on his face.

“I’ll be there in twenty.” He said, because he didn’t know how else to respond.

“Yeah, okay. See you soon.” Dustin hung up before Steve had the chance to say anything else. He replaced the phone on the receiver, then fell back onto the bed and let out an exaggerated groan, rubbing his hands over his face again. A litany of “You’re a real asshole, Steve Harrington” played over and over in his head.

He got dressed as quickly as possible, throwing on his jeans and a striped t-shirt. He forcefully avoided looking in the mirror, because he knew that he’d get distracted by the bird nest on his head and then end up being late, and he absolutely could not afford to make Dustin any angrier.

The kid would get over it eventually, but Dustin already had a bit of a complex, and Steve tried not to feed it with his own actions.

-

He laid on the horn as he pulled up to the Henderson house, and Dustin flipped him off, stepping out of his front door.

“Fuck off, dude, my mom’s sleeping!” He yelled, locking the door before running across the lawn to Steve’s car. Steve quickly moved his hand away from the horn, rolling his eyes, and watched as Dustin climbed into the passenger seat.

“Seat-belt.” He chided when Dustin sat back like he was ready to go. Dustin rolled his eyes, but he buckled up and then looked back at the road expectantly. Steve watched him for a few seconds, trying to decide how he should approach this. He’d decided on the way over that he was going to tell Dustin the truth, because honesty is the best policy, right? But now that it was time to spit it out, he felt a little sick to his stomach.

“What?” Dustin said, still staring at the road.

“Uh…I...” Steve stuttered. “I really am sorry, man.”

“What’s your excuse, Steve?” Dustin asked, finally turning to meet his eyes, and Steve wished he would look back at the road. It was easier without those big, blue eyes staring him down.

“Listen, I...It’s not an excuse, really.” Steve said, slow and uncertain how to word this. “I kind of got into it with Nancy last night at this party, and it wasn’t pretty.”

“What happened?” Dustin raised an eyebrow at that.

“Eh...it...I don’t want to get into the details,” Steve answered. “But I really don’t want to deal with it right now.” Dustin considered this, chewing on his top lip as he squinted at Steve, and Steve thought he might tell him to just suck it up; but he nodded instead.

“Okay,” he said, turning back to face the road. Steve stared at him for a beat, trying to figure out exactly what that meant. Was he forgiven?

“You gonna drive now or what?” Dustin said, glancing at him again and Steve nodded, turning his own gaze back to the road as he pulled away from the curb.

-

When they got to the Wheeler house, Billy’s Camaro was parked out front, but neither Billy nor Max were anywhere in sight. Steve pulled up behind it and shifted the car into park.

“Thanks for the ride, man.” Dustin said as he unhooked his seatbelt and stepped out of the car.

“No problem,” Steve nodded. “Do you need a ride home later?”

“Nah, I’ll get a ride from Jonathan.” Dustin shook his head as he closed the door and turned to walk away, but then he stopped and turned back around, leaning against the open window. “I know I’m ‘just a kid’ and ‘too young to understand’ or whatever, but whatever’s going on with you and Nancy...Fix it soon, okay?” Steve frowned at that. Ever since he’d started this weird kind of big brother relationship with Dustin, he’d tried to be as blunt and real with him as possible. But it’s true that there are some things the kid doesn’t understand yet, and Steve would be lying if he said there wasn’t a part of him that wanted to protect Dustin for as long as he could.

“Yeah, man, we’ll figure it out.” Steve said. “I promise not to let it stay weird for too long.”

“Promises, promises,” Dustin sighed, but he was grinning a bit. “Friends don’t lie. Right?”

“Right,” Steve nodded again, smiling back. With that Dustin stepped away from the car and headed up to the house. Billy was stepping out the front door as Dustin approached it, and Steve could see him say something to Dustin as they passed each other. Dustin didn’t really acknowledge him, though, just disappeared into the house and closed the door behind him. Billy shrugged to himself, looking a little amused, and headed down the lawn toward his car. He did a double take when he noticed Steve’s car parked right behind him.

“King Steve lives!” He called out, throwing his hands in the air as he made his way over to Steve’s Beemer.

“Pretty sure I died and this is hell, actually,” Steve deadpanned.

“Aw, c’mon,” Billy’s tone was only a little mocking as he leaned against the open window on the passenger’s side. “If you were in hell, I wouldn’t be here would I, pretty boy?.”

“You and I both know that’s bullshit, Hargrove.” Steve responded. The pout Billy gave him in return was ridiculous, and out of character, and Steve maybe found it a tad bit adorable. The thought only lasted a second, though, because Jonathan’s car pulled up into the Wheeler’s driveway, effectively distracting Steve. He watched as Nancy and Jonathan exited the car and headed up to the house, stopping for a minute to glance back at Steve and Billy curiously. Steve wished suddenly that he could make himself smaller, or better yet invisible. He sunk down in his seat a bit, hands gripping the steering wheel too tight. When he looked back at Billy, his face had gone completely hard, lips pressed in a tight line and eyebrows furrowed as he watched the two of them continue up the walkway. Steve wasn’t really sure why he looked so angry, it’s not like their beef was with him. But he decided not to ask.

“I should uh, I need to get going…” He said instead and Billy looked back at him.

“Sure,” Billy nodded, and he looked reluctant to step away even as he did so.

“See you around.” Steve shifted into reverse and glanced in the rearview mirror as he started to back up.

“Hey, Harrington!” Billy called from where he was still stood on the sidewalk; Steve stopped and looked over at him. “I was thinking about getting some beers and going down to the quarry. Wanna join?”

“I’ve sworn off alcohol,” Steve deadpanned again.

“Alright, well,” Billy shrugged, smirking. “You can watch me drink em all. Just…c’mon, man. I know you’re just going to go sit in that big house all by yourself.”

“What makes you so sure about that?” Steve bit back, because that’s exactly what he was going to do if he didn’t accept Billy’s invitation, but once again, he didn’t care to admit that. Not that it made a difference, Billy had one eyebrow cocked and a knowing look on his face. Since when did Billy Hargrove know so much about how he spends his free time?

“Fine,” Steve caved. “But I’m driving.” Billy grinned at that, stepping forward to open the passenger side door and climb in.

“Take us away, King Steve!” Billy practically howled and Steve rolled his eyes, turning back around to look behind him as he backed away from the curb.

“Seatbelt.” Steve said reflexively and was met with a blank stare from Billy. Steve hit the brake and stared back expectantly. It felt a bit like a stand-off, and suddenly he was determined to win.

“Seriously?” Billy was the first to break the silence. Steve just raised his eyebrows in response, glancing between the seat belt behind Billy’s head and Billy’s face. Billy glared for another second or two, and then he let out an exaggerated sigh and turned to strap himself in. Steve smirked, feeling an inordinate amount of satisfaction in himself, and sped off down the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Positive feedback in the form of kudos and comments help motivate me! ;)
> 
> Thanks a heap to everyone who's read and left kudos so far!


	3. Chapter 3

And that’s how Steve finds himself spending his Saturday night with Billy Hargrove down at the quarry. He knows for a fact that stranger things have happened to him, but this definitely feels the strangest.

“Shit, it’s cold out here.” He says as he pulls his jacket out of the backseat and stuffs his arms into it. He slams the door and walks around to where Billy is leaned up against the trunk, staring out over the empty quarry.

“This should warm you up,” Billy holds up an expertly rolled joint, giving an exaggerated waggle of his eyebrows. Steve eyes the joint warily. It’s been a while since he’s had weed, and he’s not particularly fond of the way it makes him extra chatty. He jumps up onto the trunk while Billy lights the joint and takes in several puffs before offering it to him. Their fingers brush when he takes the joint, and it’s a little unnerving how flustered that makes him. Billy is silent beside him, watching the water below like it’s the most interesting thing he’s seen all day. The tension that always sits on Billy’s shoulders is mostly absent in this moment, and Steve can’t help wondering why he’s the one getting to witness it. He decides not to think about it too much, chalking it up to the weed. He concentrates instead on the smoke he’s holding in his lungs and hopes it works quickly enough to quell that little bit of unease that still sits in his stomach whenever he’s around Billy.

It only takes about fifteen minutes, and a few more hits, for the chattiness to kick in, and now Steve is talking Billy’s ear off. He’s not saying anything of importance, just rambling about this time he and Tommy H. found a pile of bones in the quarry, prompted by Billy remarking how fucking creepy the place is at night.

“What the fuck, Harrington?” Billy barks out when Steve admits to attempting some kind of ritual with the bones, meant to release the spirit that belonged to them.

“It was Tommy’s idea,” Steve shrugs, grinning, and Billy laughs. “Wanna see where we buried them?”   
“You buried them?” Billy’s mouth falls open in surprise. “Why didn’t you report it?” Steve shrugs again and hops down from the trunk, heading off in the direction of the trail that leads down to the water without waiting for Billy to follow.

When they reach the water Steve veers off to the left, counting his steps as he goes. He and Tommy made up a chant to help them remember where they had buried the bones, which Steve will likely still remember on his deathbed. Even with the weed fogging up his brain, he manages to lead them right to the pile of stones that they used to mark the spot. He bends down and brushes a hand across one of the stones, dust clearing to reveal the faded markings carved into it.

“Is that Eldarin?” Billy asks as he kneels down beside Steve to take a look, at first sounding genuine and then turning into a mock. “You’re such a fucking nerd.”

“Says the guy that recognizes Eldarin.” Steve raises an eyebrow at him and Billy has the sense at least to look a little embarrassed.

“Reading was a good distraction.” His voice is quiet when he says it, and he looks off to the side, toward the water. The air between them feels tense suddenly, and Steve thinks back to that bruise on Billy’s side in the locker room. He wonders, not for the first time, what Billy’s deal is. Wonders if he’ll ever have the chance to find out.

“Yeah, well, nerd’s a nerd.” Steve shrugs after a beat. “I think I read like half of the Hobbit before I gave up, so...The Elvish was Tommy’s idea.”   
“Guess next time I’ll share my weed with Tommy, then.” Billy replies, finally looking back at Steve and smirking. And with that, the tension breaks.

They spend another twenty minutes talking about the goddamn bones and Billy insists that Steve is fucked up in the head, much to Steve’s chagrin. But it’s all in good fun, and the conversation is easy and relaxed, and Steve learns that weed also makes Billy a little more chatty. On the way back up to the car Billy talks about California, about the incredible surf, and the food, and how warm it is in the Spring there. It sounds like it’s worlds away from Indiana and Steve finds it almost comforting, to know there’s more to this world than Hawkins, Indiana.

“Shit, it’s almost nine.” Billy curses as he glances down at his watch, worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth.

“That’s still early…” Steve says, hands stuffed into his pockets to keep warm.

“We’re going to miss curfew,” Billy shakes his head.

“Oh, well, it’s a Saturday night, I’m sure it’s not that big of a deal.” Steve shrugs and Billy’s eyes shoot up to meet his face. The look on his face is equal parts controlled anger and fear.

“We need to go.” He says, tone suddenly sharp and forceful. And there it is again, the tension in Billy’s shoulders. Steve wishes he could make it go away.

“Jeez, okay…” He nods, putting his hands up in a show of surrender. They get into the car and Billy is completely silent as Steve speeds all the way back to the Wheeler’s.

Max is sitting out on the porch steps with Lucas when they pull up and she jumps to her feet as soon as she sees Billy get out of Steve’s car. Billy slams the door behind him and makes his way over to the Camaro without even glancing back at Steve.

Steve watches, dumbfounded, as he climbs into the driver’s side of his car and the engine roars to life. There’s a look of concern on Max’s face as she opens the passenger’s side door, glancing at Steve to wave once before climbing in. Steve returns the wave half-heartedly, smiling despite how it doesn’t feel quite right on his face, and watches them drive out of sight.  _ What the hell? _

-

“So we’ll be home by five,” Steve’s mom says through the phone on Sunday morning. Apparently she and his dad have decided to get an early flight home from Chicago today, instead of their original flight on Monday.

“Okay, I’ll be here.” Steve replies, moving to hang up.

“Oh, and Stephen?” she says.

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Your father and I would like to discuss some things with you over dinner.” She tells him, and Steve waits a beat to see if she’ll ask if he’ll even be home for dinner. She doesn’t, of course. Because they only make time for him once in a blue moon, so it’s the least he can do to make sure he’s available at their beck and call.

“Yeah, okay.” He nods into the phone. “See you in a few hours.”   
“Goodbye.” She replies. He hangs up the phone and leans against the kitchen counter for a few minutes, trying to quiet the anxiety that comes with being told his parents would like to “discuss some things” with him. What things could they possibly have to discuss with him? He has this sinking feeling in his gut that it’s going to be one of those “What are you doing with your life?” discussions. He is graduating in a couple months, after all. Back in the fall he’d pretty much decided that he was going to take up his dad’s offer for a job at his business when he graduated, but that was when he still had a reason to want to stay in Hawkins. That was when he still had Nancy.

After things ended with her, he worked his ass off to apply to as many colleges as he could. He didn’t really care where they were, as long as they weren’t in Indiana. He’d received a few rejection letters so far, but he was still waiting on about six more colleges. If he didn’t get in, he didn’t know what he was going to do.

He bangs his head against the counter a couple of times, groaning to himself, and then finally straightens up. He can’t spend all day worrying about this. His parents are going to be home and that means he needs to make sure the house is clean as a whistle. He also needs to restock the fridge, because he’d neglected doing so all week and nothing pisses his parents off more than coming home to an empty fridge.

He starts by cleaning up the kitchen, then moves through the rest of the house, picking up stray things he’s left lying around. Then he dusts everything, vacuums and mops the floors, and even does a load of laundry. The whole process doesn’t take too much time, since he’d gone on a cleaning spree a few days ago. After throwing his laundry into the dryer and starting it, he grabs his wallet and keys and heads to the grocery store.

-

Thirty minutes later, Steve is throwing a couple boxes of Trix into the cart and checking them off his list, feeling pretty good about himself for being so efficient. He only has one more thing to get - his coveted Farrah Fawcett hairspray. There was a time when he would have been horrified at the thought of being caught even walking past the wall of women’s hair products; but he’s been doing the shopping on his own long enough now that he doesn’t really think about it anymore. It’s a small price to pay for perfectly coiffed hair.

When he steps into the beauty aisle, Max is crouched down at the other end, searching the shelves littered with makeup, skateboard tucked under one arm. She’s got a funny, confused scowl on her face as she scans the many products, obviously out of her element. Steve grabs a couple cans of hairspray from the shelf to his left and walks over to her.

“Hey Max,” he greets, to which she quite literally jumps, yanking whatever she’d been looking at off the shelf as she stands and stares up at him like a deer caught in headlights.

“Shit,” she curses, cheeks turning rosy red.

“Sorry,” Steve chuckles. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s, uh...It’s fine.” She nods and then glances down at the package in her hand. Steve knows next to nothing about makeup, but he thinks it’s some kind of foundation or something.

“Listen, I actually wanted to apologize for last night.” He says, looking from the package in her hand back to her face. “I didn’t know about curfew, but if I had I wouldn’t have let Billy forget about it. I hope you guys didn’t get in too much trouble.” Max’s eyes flicker back down to the package in her hand, fingers tightening around it, and her expression is difficult to read. Steve likes to think he’s gotten to know all of the kids pretty well over the past few months, but Max is by far the most guarded and difficult to read. She’s feisty, and snarky, and opinionated, and she’s really good at playing it aloof when she wants to.

“Don’t worry about it,” she finally says, shrugging awkwardly. It feels an awful lot like there’s more she wants to say, but she won’t, or maybe she can’t.

“Okay,” Steve nods slowly.

“Anyway, I need to go.” She says, reaching up a hand to tuck some hair behind her ear. “See you on Thursday?”

“Thursday?” Steve asks.

“Dinner at the Byers?” she raises an eyebrow at him.

“Right, yeah,” Steve nods again. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Cool.” She nods once, and begins to walk away, but then turns back around and looks at him, considering. “I think it’s cool that you and Billy are friends now.” Steve feels his jaw go slack at that, eyes wide as he looks back at her.

“Uh…” and he really doesn’t know what to say to that.  _ Friends? _

“He’s still an ass,” she adds. “But I think he’s trying to be better, and I think it helps, to have people like you around.” Steve closes his mouth and does a weird sort of half-shrug, half-nod. Max smiles at him, small but genuine, and then turns and walks away.

-

Dinner with his parents goes exactly how he expected it to. Awkward, strained, and uncomfortably long. They make small talk over boiled chicken and broccoli, Steve listening absently as his dad rambles about the conference, wishing he could trade places with the chicken.

Their plates are nearly empty when his dad finally sits back in his chair and steeples his hands on the table, considering Steve quietly for a moment. It’s an especially cruel form of torture, letting him get all the way to the end of the meal, where he can practically see the exit in front of him, before yanking the rug out from under him. Simple discomfort is replaced with anxiety as he waits for his dad to speak, curling around his chest and tightening, making it difficult to swallow down his last bite of broccoli.

“So Stephen,” his dad says at length. “What are your plans for after graduation?” Steve knows immediately that it’s a trap. They don’t give a fuck what he wants to do with his life. They just want to do the good-parent thing by pretending to listen to what he wants and then give him “guidance” in the form of telling him what he’s actually going to do.

“I don’t know,” Steve goes for honesty, which earns an arched eyebrow and an unimpressed stare from his dad.

“You don’t have any plans?” He asks.

“I’ve applied to a few colleges,” Steve shrugs. “Just waiting to hear back from them now.”

“Which ones?” His dad asks.

“Amherst, Stanford, Chicago, Penn State, ” Steve answers. “A few others.”

“So you’ve decided on college, then?” His mom joins the conversation, and it’s unnerving how interested she actually sounds all the sudden.

“Yeah, I mean…” Steve shrugs again. “That’s what everyone does, right?”

“Did you apply to Notre Dame?” his dad asks. “They have a good business program that will be essential for when you come to work for me. Not to mention it  _ is  _ my alma mater.” The anxiety in Steve’s chest sinks into his stomach, making him feel sick. There’s nothing he’d rather do less than come back to Hawkins and work for his dad after he finally gets out. There’s nothing here for him in Hawkins, except constant reminders of his heartbreak and the looming threat of some interdimensional gate busting open and releasing hell on him and everyone he cares about.

There’s something uglier than anxiety clawing its way into his chest, though, as he fumbles his way through the rest of the conversation with his parents. It’s resentment. Resentment towards his parents, for not knowing about any of that, for never being around, for treating him like a throw-away his entire life and then turning around and expecting him to simply bend to their will as an adult. And the worst part is that somewhere deep down he wants to do everything they say. He wants them to be proud of him, to pat him on the back and tell him his existence hasn’t been a complete waste. He’s always been pretty good at puffing out his chest and pretending he doesn’t give a fuck what they think about him, and it’s always been total bullshit.

He goes to bed that night feeling like a rubber band pulled taut, like any little thing could pull him that little bit tighter and he’d snap. It’s almost two in the morning before the noise in his head quiets enough to let him finally fall asleep, and he wakes up an hour later in a cold sweat. The details of his nightmare are blurry, but he remembers being in the tunnels under the pumpkin patch. He was a kid again, and Jules was with him, and there were demodogs rushing toward them, screeching so loudly that he couldn’t hear anything else. He didn’t have his bat, or anything to defend himself with, and then Jules was tugging on his arm and asking him what he was going to do. Her voice was shrill, desperate, eyes wide with panic. But there was absolutely nothing he could do. He was totally helpless, and they were going to die. Panic was boiling up in his stomach and just as the demodogs were closing in he woke up.

He scrambles out of bed, shivering, his whole body covered in sweat, and hastily turns on all the lights in his room. Once the room is fully lit, he climbs back into bed and presses his back into the wall, gathering the sheets around himself like a shield. He stares out at the rest of his room, trying to swallow down the nausea that’s pushing its way up into his throat, and accepts that he won’t be getting any sleep tonight.

-

The next few days pass by in a blur. The only real sleep he gets is when he nods off in third period on Tuesday afternoon, earning what he thinks is a disproportionately intense glare from Mr. Tuckett when he jolts awake at the sound of the bell. His parents are home all week, which means he can’t sit in front of the TV until he dozes off - his normal go-to when he has trouble sleeping. So instead he sits up in his bed, every light on in his room, and reads through his whole collection of comic books as a distraction to get him through the night.

In the mornings he chugs as much coffee as he can before heading to school early. He does a few laps around the track before any of his classmates show up, which helps bring his energy up until lunch. At lunch he sneaks out to his car and tries to get in a few minutes of shut-eye. But it never works. He ends up lying there, staring at the roof of his car until he hears the first warning bell.

Billy is largely absent from his school day. He doesn’t seek out Steve in the halls like usual, nor does he pester him at lunch, and he sits on the bench during PE, claiming a twisted ankle as his excuse for not participating. Steve doesn’t really know what to make of that. He’d grown accustomed to Billy being a part of his school day, might even go so far as to say he looked forward to their interactions. He considers saying something to Billy a few times, but then realizes that that’s not really something they do. They don’t say hello to each other, or ask how the other’s day is going. And any interactions they do have, it’s always Billy taking the lead. Steve wouldn’t even know how to initiate a conversation with Billy. Despite what Max had said, they’re not really  _ friends _ . He doesn’t exactly know what they are, but friend is not a word he’d readily apply to Billy Hargrove.

He does see Nancy and Jonathan several times, though. Given the shiner on Jonathan’s right eye, he can safely assume his fist did in fact connect with his face on Friday night. He feels a little bad about that, but maybe not as bad as he should. Neither of them say anything to him, but he catches Nancy watching him with those big, sad eyes several time, which pisses him off all over again. He’s waiting to apologize until he really means it, but he’s not sure he’ll ever mean it if she doesn’t stop looking at him like she’s personally responsible for his well-being. It’s just too much. Maybe if she’d cared half as much when they were together, they wouldn’t be here now.

By Wednesday night Steve has reached the end of himself. He’s exhausted, by every definition of the word, and he’s pretty sure all of the blood in his body has been replaced by coffee. His parents make him join them for dinner again, which he bears with about as much grace as an agitated wasp, and as soon as he’s excused he goes for a drive. It’s probably not the safest thing for him to be driving in this state, but he can’t spend another night sitting in his room, reading comics that he’s already practically memorized, trying not to think about the shadows that the light can’t reach.

He ends up at the cemetery, empty-handed and wishing desperately that he had some whiskey, or at least a cigarette. He drops down in front of Jules’ gravestone and leans back against it.

“How the fuck were you so happy?” he asks on a sigh. No answer comes. The silence leaves him feeling emptier, more alone. This isn’t as therapeutic sober.

He counts his breaths. Inhale - One, two, three, four, hold for six seconds, exhale. Tries not to think about how heavy his body feels, or how much heavier his chest feels. He feels like a raw nerve, completely vulnerable and exposed to the elements. Tears pool in his eyes and he doesn’t bother to blink or wipe them away, lets them overflow and trail down his face. He’s not even really sure what he’s crying about. He’s tired, and scared, and at a complete loss for what to do. He hates his parents, and he hates Nancy, and he hates the Upside Down, and he hates that he’s expected to just put his chin up and push onward.

“Harrington?” a voice startles him from his thoughts and he blinks a few times into the dark, trying to figure out who’s there. He can barely make out a shadow, but everything’s blurry from the tears.

“What?” he replies, hearing the crunch of grass underfoot as whoever it is approaches.

“Jesus,” it’s Billy. Steve can’t really make out any details, but he’d know that cocky, self-assured stance anywhere. “What the hell are you doing out here? I’d expect this kind of thing from that creep, Byers, not you.”   
“Why are you here?” Steve asks, because he doesn’t have the energy to do the whole back and forth thing right now.

“Was takin’ a little joyride,” Billy shrugs from where he’s standing a few feet away from him. “Saw your car parked outside the gate.”

“That doesn’t really answer my question, Hargrove.” Steve snaps. “ _ Why  _ are you  _ here _ ?”   
“What do you mean, man?” Billy’s eyebrows furrow at that. “I had to come see what kind of creepy shit Steve Harrington was doing in a cemetery this late at night. Whose grave is that, anyway?” Steve tenses at that, pressing his back tighter to Jules’ gravestone, feeling protective. He’s  _ really _ not in the mood to do this right now.

“No one, it doesn’t matter,” Steve grits out.

“So is it no one or....?” Billy’s smirking now and Steve doesn’t really understand why. None of this is amusing or funny.

“Can you just go away, man?” Steve sighs, feeling anger build in his chest the longer Billy stands there.

“I don’t know,” Billy shrugs again, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “See, I hear the local cemetery’s the place to be on a Wednesday night. I hear Jules here puts out .” That triggers something in Steve, and suddenly he’s seeing red as he lunges up from his place beside her gravestone. He grabs Billy by the front of his shirt and yanks him in until their noses are almost touching. He knows for sure that this is going to get him knocked the fuck out, and he’s honestly kind of hoping for it.

“Get. The. Fuck. Away. From. Me.” He spits, and he knows it sounds as serious and threatening as he means it to because Billy looks genuinely shocked for a minute. He doesn’t do anything, though, and Steve doesn’t understand why. Here he is, picking a fight with a bully in an empty graveyard where there are no witnesses. He’s easy fucking prey. There’s no way Billy can’t tell that he’s been crying, and the grip he has on Billy’s shirt is barely anything to bat an eye at. He’s so fucking angry and his body is thrumming from the adrenaline, but he’s absolutely exhausted and there’s no real fight in him. Billy could knock him out without even trying. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t do it. Maybe it’s  _ too  _ easy.

Something unfamiliar flashes in Billy’s eyes as they stare each other down, and then he’s reaching up and pulling Steve’s hands away from his shirt. He pushes, not hard, just enough to back Steve up out of his space, and then he turns and walks away without another word.

Steve watches him go, pit forming in his stomach, and wishes to god that the guy had knocked him out. He falls down in front of Jules’ gravestone, breathing deeply as his heartbeat comes back down to a normal pace, and finds that, despite all of that, he regrets letting Billy walk away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on a roll right now. Here's to hoping I don't lose momentum.
> 
> For anyone who's been following along, I did make some small changes to a few details in the chapters before this one, so if you notice that the continuity is off, it's probably something I changed from the original post.
> 
> Anywho - Thanks to everyone for the kudos!
> 
> Also shoutout to the one person who left a comment on the last chapter - I was literally banging my head on my desk trying to figure out how the fuck I was going to keep writing this and then your comment came through and I immediately felt so much more motivated! :)


	4. Chapter 4

As Steve makes his way over to the Byers’ house on Thursday night for dinner, he feels like the walking dead.  He can’t remember a time that he’s ever been this fucking tired, and he’s pretty sure he hallucinated his way through most of school that day.

The door opens before he can knock and Eleven is standing just on the other side of it, smiling up at him. The first time he actually met El, the way her big brown eyes bore into him like she was searching his soul had been extremely unnerving, but he’s kind of used to it now.

“Steve.” She says.

“Hey, El,” he reaches a hand up to ruffle her brown curls as he steps into the house and the door swings closed behind him.

“Tired.” She says, tilting her head and frowning.

“Uh, yeah,” he nods, because there’s never any use in lying to El. “Haven’t really been sleeping.” She considers him for a moment, as if she’s trying to solve his problem, but before she can respond there’s a knock on the door and her eyes light up. He steps aside as she opens it, hands at her sides, and Steve’s briefly amazed at how much better she’s gotten at that, like it’s just second nature now.

“El!” Mike exclaims from the other side of the threshold, and she rushes forward to wrap her arms around him, huge smile erupting on her face.

“Mike!” She exclaims in return. Steve swears every time these kids see each other they act like they’ve been apart for a whole year. Nancy clears her throat from where she’s stood just behind them, holding a covered dish of some kind, and Steve glances up at her, feeling a lump form in his throat immediately.

“Jesus, you just saw each other yesterday,” Nancy says, but she’s smiling. “Can you let me inside or...?” Mike grunts and Eleven lets go of him, grabbing his hand instead and pulling him aside so that Nancy can get past them.

“Hey,” she acknowledges Steve carefully as soon as she’s inside. She sounds so nervous, it makes him feel like shit.

“Hey, Nance,” He gives her half a smile and that seems to relieve some of the tension between them.

“Is that Nancy?” Joyce calls from the kitchen, poking her head around the corner.

“Hey Mrs. Byers!” Nancy calls back and steps around Steve to join her in the kitchen.

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Joyce?” Joyce teases just loudly enough for Steve to hear. He glances back at the kids, and Eleven is staring at him again, considering.

“We eat, then come find me.” She says after a beat, giving him one nod, and then heads back to Will’s room, Mike trailing behind her. Steve doesn’t know what that means, but he’s sure he’ll find out after dinner.

“Steve!” Hopper calls from the dining room, where he’s struggling with the table. “Give me a hand?”

“Hey Chief,” Steve replies, walking over to grab the opposite end of the table and pull. It’s one of those tables with the inserts to make it bigger, which is necessary for a group their size. Steve remembers helping Hopper load it up in his truck one cold, December morning. They drove an hour outside of town to pick it up from this elderly widow after Joyce saw an ad for it in the paper. It was a good price and they’d used it enough times already to make it well worth the investment, according to Joyce.

“Haven’t seen you around much,” Hopper says as he picks up one of the leaves from where it’s resting against the wall and places it over the open space in the middle of the table. “I hope that means you’re staying out of trouble?”   
“Always, Chief,” Steve grins. There was a time when he was intimidated by the Chief of Police, but he’s seen the man dance terribly just to elicit a smile from Eleven too many times now to still feel that way.

“Uh-huh,” Hopper nods, eying him skeptically. “You heard from any colleges yet?”   
“Got a few rejection letters,” Steve shrugs, sliding the next leaf into place and then helping Hopper push the two ends of the table back together.

“It’s still early,” Hopper responds, and Steve can appreciate that he doesn’t try to do that thing everyone else does - promise him it’ll work out or give him advice of some kind. “Jonathan mentioned that you’ve been hanging out with Billy Hargrove?” Steve stops what he’s doing for a second, looking up at Hopper with an eyebrow raised. He doesn’t know why it’s any of Hopper’s business. Or Jonathan’s, for that matter.

“Uh, kind of…” Steve finally answers. After last night, he has a hard time imagining ever hanging out with Billy again. So he’s not sure why any of this is relevant.

“Are you,” Hopper stops, rubbing the back of his neck as he chooses his words carefully. “How’s that been?”   
“We’ve hung out like twice,” Steve shrugs. “I wouldn’t really call that  _ hanging out _ . We’re not friends or anything.” Hopper nods at that and seems to drop it as they as they go about securing the table and then wiping it down.   
“I just wanted to say that I think it’s good for him,” Hopper says, clearly not ready to drop it. “I know things didn’t start off well between you two, but he needs a friend like you.”   
“I think Billy gets along just fine on his own,” Steve replies, more bitterly than he intended, as he turns around to grab a chair and place it back in front of the table.

“Listen,” and suddenly Hopper’s on the other side of the table, hand touching Steve’s elbow to get his attention, voice pitched low as he speaks. “I got called over to the Hargrove house for a domestic dispute the other night. Mr. Hargrove answered and assured me it was just a small argument, but the neighbor insisted there was more to it. I couldn’t exactly force my way into the house to see for myself, but...I’m inclined to believe the neighbor.”   
“Why are you telling me this?” Steve asks, swallowing hard as he looks up at Hopper.

“Because I think there’s more going on with Billy than we know.” Hopper says. “And I think he needs more help than he’s ever going to feel comfortable asking for.” Steve’s mind flashes back to that day in the locker room, to the nasty bruise on Billy’s side, and he feels sick to his stomach. He’d considered very briefly back then that it could be Billy’s dad who gave it to him, but had dismissed it almost immediately. Now he wasn’t so sure.

“What exactly do you want me to do?” Steve whispers back at length.

“You don’t have to do anything, kid,” Hopper lets go of his elbow and walks back around the table to rearrange the chairs on that side. “I just think that if Billy trusts you, that’s good. He needs someone in his corner. Just...Be careful.”   
“Okay,” Steve feels himself nodding, but he’s still not totally sure what he’s agreeing to. He doubts Billy will be approaching him again any time soon, and he’s not about to go seek him out just so he can play good samaritan or something.

He catches a glimpse of Jonathan and  Nancy in the kitchen, helping Joyce prepare dinner while dancing around to The Clash, and something sour twists in his stomach. He knows that he’s going to have to apologize to both of them at some point tonight. So he decides to push everything Hopper just said to the side in favor of reserving his energy for that. Billy and whatever, or whoever, his problem is will have to wait.

-

Dinner is delicious, and loud, and Steve feels both full and like he’s going to have a headache for the next week as he steps outside to take a breather. Joyce comes out after him, pack of cigarettes and a lighter in hand, and sits down on the steps beside him. She doesn’t say anything at first, just offers him a cigarette, which he accepts, and puffs away on her own for a few minutes. Steve is quite fond of Joyce. She’s absolutely nothing like his own mom, which earns her a million points right off the bat; but she’s also really funny when she’s not fussing over Will, and she’s got just the right balance of nurture and tough-love. He thinks it should be weird, to be sitting on the porch of the guy who stole his girlfriend and smoking with his mom, but it really isn’t.

“Jonathan came home on Friday night with a black eye,” Joyce breaks the silence, looking at Steve, and he knows immediately that he’s being called out. “He wouldn’t tell me where it came from. Know anything about that, Steve?” Steve has no idea how to respond to that. He doesn’t understand why Jonathan would cover for him, and he doesn’t know what kind of response Joyce is hoping for. Except he does. Joyce values honesty above all things.

“Yeah,” he says slowly, and the confession feels like it’s being pulled up from the pit in his stomach. “I, uh, I did that.”   
“What happened?” Joyce asks, her voice surprisingly devoid of judgement.

“I had too much to drink,” Steve answers. “And Nancy was trying to help and I don’t know, I got angry. Jonathan tried to get between us and I think I punched him? I don’t remember much of it.”   
“I should ask you to leave my house,” Joyce says, ashing her cigarette and then biting the side of her thumb. “Because my boys mean more to me than anything, and I don’t tolerate people hurting them. But I trust Jonathan, and if he didn’t want me to know, I’m sure he has a good reason. You’re not a bully, are you, Steve?”   
“No, I don’t think so,” Steve shakes his head. “Not anymore.”

“Good,” she nods, dropping what’s left of her cigarette onto the ground and stamping it out with her foot. She reaches an arm around Steve’s shoulders and squeezes, rubbing her hand up and down the side of his arm comfortingly. Steve leans into it, feeling all the tension in his body leave, and he’s so grateful for her in that moment.

The front door opens and out steps Eleven, making her way over to the steps and tapping Steve on the shoulder.

“Come inside,” she says. “Sleep.” Steve looks over his shoulder at her, and then glances back at Joyce, who just squeezes his arm once more and pulls away.

“Go ahead.” She smiles, and Steve stamps out his own cigarette before getting up and following Eleven inside. All of the other kids are in Will’s room, and Steve can hear Nancy, Jonathan, and Hopper talking over the sound of running water in the kitchen. Eleven leads him to the couch and motions for him to lie down. He does as he’s told, sprawling out on the couch and putting a pillow under his neck for support. Eleven pulls a chair up to the side of the couch and reaches both hands out to touch his temples. He watches her for a second, confused, and she just nods at him, expression serious.

“Close your eyes.” She says and he complies. He’s not sure what happens next, because his eyes are closed, but he can feel her fingers pressed to his temples and everything gets much quieter all the sudden. He feels all of the exhaustion in his body wash over him and drag him down, past all the anxiety and stress, into a deep sleep.

-

The clock on the wall across the room reads 2:45 when Steve wakes up, bright sunlight in his eyes. He blinks his way into full consciousness, trying to remember why he’s asleep on the Byer’s couch. Memories of Eleven making him lie down there and holding warm fingers to his head come back to him slowly. She must’ve done some kind of weird psychic thing to him, to help him sleep. And jesus is he glad for it, even if it is a little unsettling to know that she can do shit like that. He feels rejuvenated in a way he hasn’t felt in months.

“Morning, sleepyhead.” Joyce smiles up at him from where she’s sitting at the kitchen table, cutting coupons, when he finally gets up and goes in search of water.

“Why’d you let me sleep so late?” he asks.

“You needed it.” She answers, shrugging. “I called the school, let them know you were out sick.”

“Thanks,” he feels himself smile a bit as she nods and looks back down at her stack of flyers. He finds a glass in the dishwasher and fills it with water from the tap, gulping it down too quickly. The cold hits his stomach and makes it grumble. He slept for a long time, and now he’s starving.

“Oh, I hope you don’t mind,” Joyce pipes up again from the table. “But I volunteered you to pick up the kids and take them to the arcade after school today.”

“Gee, thanks,” Steve groans, and she just grins at him; she really is shameless. “Do they have AV Club today?”   
“It’s...Thursday?” Joyce looks up again, staring off to the side like she’s thinking really hard for a minute, chewing on her bottom lip.  “Yeah, so you’ve got another hour or so.” She waves a hand dismissively and goes back to cutting.

“Cool,” he nods, glancing down at the empty glass in his hand. His stomach rumbles again, so he fills the glass a second time and chugs.

“You hungry?” Joyce asks after another beat of silence.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Steve feels his cheeks flush. “But it’s okay, I can get something while I’m out.”   
“Nonsense,” Joyce sets down the flyer she’d been cutting and stands up, walking over to the fridge. “We have plenty of leftovers from dinner last night.” She proceeds to pull out six different containers and lay them out on the counter.

“Help yourself,” she smiles, grabbing a plate and fork from the dishwasher and setting them in front of the food. So Steve does exactly that. He fills his plate and sits down across from her at the kitchen table, tucking into his food silently while she smokes and turns up the radio, bobbing her head along to the music. It’s nice. Steve finds Joyce’s presence comforting in a way he’s not used to.

-

Billy’s Camaro is parked outside the middle school when Steve pulls in to pick up the kids. He tries to park as far away from it as he can, but there’s not exactly a plethora of spaces. So he ends up only ten spaces away, putting his car into park and trying to pretend he doesn’t notice the other boy.

Billy clearly doesn’t get the message, because he gets out of his car a second later and strolls over to Steve’s. Steve considers just staring ahead and ignoring him, maybe then he’ll get the message; but Billy leans down and rests his arms against the open window, face only about a foot away from Steve’s. Smoke billows out from the end of the cigarette tucked between his lips and Steve coughs dramatically once or twice before turning to glare at him. Billy doesn’t have the usual smirk on his face, the one that Steve’s grown accustomed to seeing nearly every time he approaches him. Today his expression is serious, almost contemplative. It reminds Steve a little bit of Eleven’s stare, not quite as wide-eyed or intense, but pretty damn close. It’s the kind that leaves you feeling a little exposed.

“My car’s not an ashtray, Hargrove.” He bites out after nearly a minute of Billy just staring at him. His words strike some kind of cord, though apparently not the right one, because for a brief moment Billy smirks, and then he pulls the cigarette away from his mouth and blows smoke out right into Steve’s face. Steve actually coughs then, waving his hand in the air to try and clear it.

“Jesus,” he breathes out, and Billy just chuckles beside him.

“You’re too serious, Harrington.” He says, and nothing about it is mocking. He just sounds genuinely amused. Steve isn’t sure what to make of that.

“What do you want?” Steve asks, glaring at him again. Billy takes a few steps back from the car, hands up in mock surrender, and sticks his tongue out in a gesture that can only be described as lewd, running it across his bottom lip before closing his mouth again. Before Steve’s brain can process that enough to provide a response, the nerds are all running out the front entrance of the school and making their way over to his car.

“El said she didn’t kill you, but I’ll admit I was a little skeptical.” Dustin says as he opens the passenger side door and climbs in.

“Afternoon to you too,” Steve replies sarcastically.

“How are we all supposed to fit in here, exactly?” Mike asks from where he’s stood by one of the open back doors, frowning at Steve through the window.

“I don’t know, you’re small,” Steve shrugs. “Can’t you like...squish?”

“ _ Squish _ ?” Steve’s not sure he’s ever seen Mike look so offended. He’s full-on glaring at him now. It would be scary if it weren’t mostly funny.   
“There’s not enough seatbelts.” Will supplies, ever eager to back Mike up.

“Jesus, the arcade is like five minutes away,” Steve sighs. “If you can survive a hoard of demo-” Dustin makes a sharp hissing sound beside him and Steve turns to look at him, eyebrows raised. What’s his problem?

“Dustin, can you not interrupt-” and then Dustin is reaching a hand over to pinch Steve on the arm. “Ow! Jesus!”   
“ _ Steve _ ,” Dustin grunts out, eyes going wide in warning as they flick over to something behind Steve’s head. Steve turns to see that Billy is still standing there, watching them with a curious look on his face. He snaps his mouth shut and lets out a little “Oh” before turning back to Mike and Will.

“You can either get in or walk.” He says sternly.

“Really? You’re gonna make us walk?” Mike is clearly gearing up for a fight and Steve barely refrains from just turning and banging his head against the steering wheel until he loses consciousness.

“A couple of you can ride with us.” Max offers from where she’s stood beside Billy, who gapes at her in response.

“Since when did I volunteer to be Mr. Mom?” Billy says, glaring down at Max.

“Since I volunteered you.” Max answers, glaring right back. Steve’s not really sure what he’s witnessing as he watches them stare each other down, and he’s definitely surprised when Billy breaks first.

“Fine.” He grits out, turning to head back to his car. “I’ll take one more rugrat in my car. No more.”

“C’mon,” Max grins and grabs Eleven’s hand, pulling her toward the car.

“Hey, why Eleven?” Mike whines.

“Cause she won’t say anything stupid to piss him off.” Max replies, rolling her eyes, and walks over to the Camaro with Eleven in tow as Billy starts the engine and revs it a couple of times. Steve waits for Mike, Will, and Lucas to pile into the backseat, reminding them to put on their seatbelts, before starting up his own car and heading out of the parking lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this chapter, let me know! I love reading your feedback/thoughts.
> 
> Next update will probably be a couple days out (Sunday/Monday). I had some personal stuff come up, and then I've been trying to work on another project that I want to have done before the end of the month so I've made very little progress on this.
> 
> Also - I'm considering maybe adding a bit of Billy's perspective to this. Initially I just wanted this to be focused on Steve, but I realized that there's quite a bit going on in regards to Billy that we're not really going to see from Steve's perspective. Let me know if that's something you'd be interested in! ;)
> 
> Okay, anyway, that's all. Thanks so much again for all the kudos and lovely comments! :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, here we go with an update finally.
> 
> I decided to go ahead and throw in some bits from Billy's perspective, because I couldn't resist.
> 
> Enjoy!

Steve hasn’t stepped foot in the arcade in at least four years, and he hadn’t really intended for that to change, but then Max convinces Billy to stick around and Billy looks to Steve expectantly.

“C’mon, Harrington,” he says, smirking in that self-assured way that never fails to get under Steve’s skin. “Bet you can’t beat my top score at Galaga.”

“The fuck is Galaga?” Steve asks, putting his hands on his hips and raising an eyebrow.

“Galaxian,” Dustin supplies. “It’s the sequel.”

“Seriously?” Steve lights up at that. He used to spend hours playing Galaxian after school. It had been his escape when he started middle school and his parents decided he didn’t need a nanny to look after him anymore. He hadn’t grown used to the hollowed out feeling of being completely alone yet, and going home to a big, empty house after school felt like a death sentence. So he’d bike over to the arcade and play until they told him it was closing time. Sometimes he has nightmares of being eleven again, getting home at nine o’clock at night after playing arcade games until his fingers were numb, and finding that his empty house is full of demodogs. Those were the dreams that had him climbing into his car regardless of the time of night and driving around aimlessly until the buzzing under his skin settled.

“Yeah, it’s only been out for like...four years.” Mike rolls his eyes, to which Steve just makes a face.

“Alright, Hargrove, you’re on.” He says, turning his attention back to Billy and slapping him on the shoulder as he walks past him.

“It’s that way, Harrington,” Billy says smugly, gesturing with his head in the opposite direction. Steve just scowls at him and corrects his path, walking past Billy again. There’s a couple of kids in front of the console when the reach it, and as soon as they see Billy they scatter like chickens with their heads cut off. Steve raises an eyebrow in Billy’s direction and Billy just shrugs.

“Never met ‘em before in my life.” He says, smirking again, and Steve rolls his eyes.

“How often do you come here?” Steve asks, fishing a handful of quarters out of his pocket.

“Probably too often,” Billy purses his lips. “But what else am I supposed to do in this shitheap of a place?”

“Fair enough,” Steve nods in understanding as he presses quarters into the slot and watches the image on the screen shift to start the game. It’s been ages since he last played Galaxian, but Galaga is essentially the same and he’s able to jump in with no trouble. It’s like riding a bike, all muscle memory. He didn’t catch the high score on the board before he started, but when he strikes out with a score of 234,500 he thinks that’s pretty good for how rusty he is. His highest score on Galaxian was around 500,000. He glances up at Billy, feeling pretty pleased with himself, but Billy’s got this condescending look on his face that immediately kills any confidence he had. He looks back down to the screen, nervous suddenly as he searches the scoreboard. The top score is 846,789. Next to it is just the name Hargrove.

“What the fuck, man?” Steve groans, smacking the console in irritation.

“Impressed, pretty boy?” Billy winks and Steve ignores the weird feeling that gives his insides in favor of glowering at him.

“Seriously, how much time do you spend here?” Steve asks, pulling out some more quarters and feeding the machine. “I used to spend up to five hours playing this every day, and I never got over 500,000.”

“Maybe I’m just naturally better,” Billy suggests, and Steve doesn’t answer, because he doesn’t have anything to say to that and also the game is starting up again. Steve focuses on the game, and Billy apparently takes that as his cue to start taunting him. Steve wants to say the taunting motivates him to try harder, but it’s really just distracting. Before he knows it he’s lost his final life with a score of only 50,000.

“Okay, Hargrove, your turn.” Steve sighs, stepping back from the machine and crossing his arms over his chest.

“You didn’t even get close to my score, Harrington,” Billy shakes his head.

“And how many hours did you spend one night building up to that score?” Steve raises an eyebrow. “C’mon, I want to see what you can do right here, right now.” Billy tilts his head back a little, glaring at Steve defiantly, but Steve holds his ground. They stand there for at least a minute, though it feels longer, and Steve wonders how the hell Max does this.

“C’mon, Hargrove. You scared you’ll fail miserably?” Steve goes for a taunt, because clearly this stare-down is going nowhere and he needs to win this one. That does the trick. Billy’s smirk shifts into a thin line of irritation, and then something else flashes in his eyes and Steve isn’t totally sure what it is, but it looks a bit like self-deprecation. Regardless, Billy moves to take position in front of the machine, pulling out a few quarters and feeding it.

Steve lets out a snort when Billy’s first ship is hit within five minutes, but the amusement dies quickly as Billy settles into the game. In no time, he’s surpassing Steve’s first score and climbing. Steve would be embarrassed, miffed even, but he’s too busy being impressed. Billy isn’t even concentrating that hard, he’s just hitting ships and dodging shots with a sort of ease Steve’s never seen. When he taps out at 769,300 Steve’s not convinced he didn’t lose on purpose.

“Not my best, obviously, but…” Billy raises his hands in a little shrug, stepping back from the console, and gives Steve a shit-eating grin.

“Not too shabby,” Steve shrugs in return, arms still folded tightly over his chest.

“Not too shabby?” Billy’s repeats, clearly affronted as his voice cracks slightly with how high it goes. Something flutters in Steve’s chest at that, and then his face flushes, suddenly afraid that Billy felt it too. It’s ridiculous, of course. Reminds him of how he used to feel in grade school when he had a crush on a cute girl and he’d get so nervous talking to her, feeling like she could see right through him. He tries not to dwell on it.

“Alright, alright,” Steve coughs, forcing out a grin, hoping it comes across more relaxed than he feels. “Your skills in Galaga are unsurpassed.” Billy’s grin gets impossibly wider at that, and he ducks his head slightly, like he’s not exactly sure what to do with the compliment. Steve thinks he sees a bit of a blush creeping up Billy’s neck and into his cheeks, and there’s something so sweet and almost disarming about it. It makes Steve feel like everything is off-kilter, like he’s stepped into some alternate reality where Billy’s not the guy who nearly beat him to death all those months ago. Like he’s just another boy who’s as scared and uncertain as Steve on most days.

“Bet you can’t beat me at Pac-man, though,” Steve spits out, needing a distraction, and it works. The smug look he’s so used to seeing on Billy’s face is back in an instant.

“How long  _ has _ it been since you’ve stepped foot in an arcade, Harrington?” Billy asks. Steve doesn’t know why that’s relevant, so he just shrugs again, and the chuckle Billy lets out at that is just the right side of mocking to make him feel at ease again.

They spend the next hour or two playing Miss Pac-man, because apparently Pac-man has a wife and her game is ten times better than his. It’s no surprise that Billy beats him at that, too. But Steve’s not nearly as bothered by it as he thinks he should be. It might have something to do with the way Billy’s stopped talking smack and started genuinely cheering Steve on, cursing just as loudly when Steve loses yet another game.

It’s the kids that end up having to remind them when it’s time to leave. Steve doesn’t remember the last time he lost track of time so completely, and he feels lighter than he has in a long time as they make their way out of the arcade. Billy is walking close beside him, and he bumps him with his elbow as they approach their cars.

“Hey, I uh…” Billy glances at the kids in front of them, like he’s nervous they might be paying attention, but they aren’t. Dustin has Lucas in a chokehold, and Mike and Max seem to be caught up in some kind of disagreement, leaving Will and Eleven to roll their eyes in exasperation at them.

“I wanted to say that I’m sorry,” Billy continues, turning his attention back to Steve, who just stares back at him, wide-eyed. “About the other night. I know you’ve probably already forgotten about it or whatever, but…”

“It’s okay,” Steve cuts him off, waving a hand in the air. “Don’t worry about it. I was kind of an ass, too.”   
“No,” Billy shakes his head, a little frustrated. “You were obviously upset and I was the one being an ass. So...I’m sorry.” Steve just blinks at that. He’s really not sure what to say. He’s so used to people giving him these half-assed apologies, the kind that are anything but genuine and full of excuses. But Billy’s not making excuses for himself, and he sounds so sincere in his remorse.

“Uh,” Steve says dumbly. “Thanks. I...appreciate that.” Billy nods, smile soft and genuine

“Steve!” Dustin calls from where he’s stood by Steve’s car now, having let Lucas go at some point. “We gonna go any time soon? Curfew’s at nine-thirty.”

“Shit, yeah,” Steve glances down at his watch, which reads ten after nine; just barely enough time to get most of them home on time if he leaves right now.

“I can take one of them home,” Billy offers, glancing at his own watch.

“Don’t you have to get Max home?” Steve asks.

“Friday night curfew is ten,” Billy shrugs.

“Oh, okay,” Steve nods, putting his hands on his hips as he thinks. “Then yeah. Could you take Jane home? She lives the furthest out…”   
“Yeah, sure.” Billy nods in return.

“Cool,” Steve smiles, sprinting backwards toward his car. “She can give you directions.”

“Sure,” Billy nods again as he makes his way over to his own car, smirking. “You owe me, Harrington.”

“Hey, you’re the one who offered.” Steve calls back over the hood of his car, to which Billy just flips him the bird before climbing into his the driver’s seat and starting up the Camaro.

“Hey, El,” Steve says as Eleven pulls away from hugging Mike.

“Steve?” she asks, turning her full attention to him.

“Don’t let him speed or anything,” Steve replies, smirking. “Hopper’ll kill me.”   
“Got it.” Eleven smiles, nodding, and turns to follow Max to the Camaro. Steve watches them climb in and wave from their seats as Billy drives off. And he really hopes Hopper isn’t home when Billy drops Eleven off.

-

Jane and Max don’t talk. At all. It’s a little unnerving, if Billy’s being honest. He’s so used to girls who chatter on and on at each other like they’re going to run out of air if they stop talking. But these two haven’t said a word since they climbed into his Camaro, aside from telling him the general direction to head in. He would say something, to break the silence that feels almost suffocating, but he’s not sure what to say; so he turns up the radio instead. Every now and then he’ll catch a glimpse of Jane in the rearview, and she’s just staring back at him in this way that makes him feel like she’s looking right into his soul. That’s beyond just unnerving. Billy’s not exactly an open book, so the idea of someone reading him feels invasive. It makes his skin itch and leaves his fingers drumming just a little harder against the steering wheel. He wishes he knew what she thought she saw.

He’s a little confused when Jane’s directions have him heading down a back country road that he’s pretty sure just dead-ends at the quarry, and even more confused when she has him pull off the side of the road and down a dirt road that he honestly wouldn’t have realized was there on his own. He wonders for a brief moment if this is all some kind of elaborate plan to get back at him for all the shit he did when he first got to Hawkins. Lure him into a false sense of security, then bring him out to the middle of the woods and...do what exactly? He’s not totally sure. But he doesn’t really have time to finish that thought as they reach a clearing where a small house sits. The lights are on inside, illuminating all the windows, and the Chief’s truck is parked out front.

The front door opens as if on cue and Chief Hopper is standing in the doorway. He’s wearing flannel pants and a t-shirt, a beer in one hand, and Billy’s struck by how bizarre it is. He’s never really considered the fact that the Chief is just a person like the rest of them, who comes home after a long day of work, takes off his uniform and drinks a beer.

“Thanks, Billy.” Jane says, smiling, as Max hops out of the front seat and pulls it forward so she can climb out. 

“No problem,” Billy nods into the rearview mirror, a little shaken at how much sweeter the kid looks with a smile on her face. Jane gives Max a quick hug before trudging up to the porch to meet Chief Hopper. The Chief says something, glancing back at Billy’s Camaro, and Billy waves as if on instinct, because the Chief isn’t smiling and that makes him nervous. Jane says something back to the Chief, then waves back at Billy and goes inside. The Chief watches as Billy turns the car around and pulls away from the house, and he can only assume he goes back in as soon as they’re out of sight.

“What’s his deal, anyway?” Billy asks as he pulls out onto the road.

“Chief Hopper?” Max replies, raising an eyebrow in his direction.

“Yeah,” Billy nods.

“He’s cool,” Max shrugs. “He’s a little protective, but it makes sense.”

“Why’s that?” Billy prods, and Max bites her bottom lip, considering.

“El’s been through a lot,” she says, obviously choosing her words carefully and Billy wants to know why, but he figures he’ll leave that alone for now. “She came from a bad place, and Hopper’s just trying to keep her safe.” Billy withholds a scoff at that. He knows fuck all about Chief Hopper, but he’s heard adults say shit like that before. He hopes that the Chief’s idea of keeping her safe is nothing like his own father’s idea of it.

“It’s different, Billy,” Max says, and Billy can feel her eyes on him; she’s too damn perceptive. “Hopper’s nothing like Neil.” Billy feels something thick crawl up his throat and settle there, making it hard to swallow suddenly. It used to be that Max wouldn’t dare to bring this up. But Max was growing up, and those friends of hers made her more brash than before, and she wasn’t afraid of Billy anymore. He wasn’t entirely sure what changed that, and on days when he felt like he was losing control he really hated it, but he knew that it had been for the better. Somewhere between him terrorizing Max and her friends and now, she’d become his greatest ally. He’d resisted it at first, going for the silent treatment when he realized lashing out at her wasn’t going to work anymore. But then she started to confront him head-on. She was no longer absent in the hours after he'd managed to piss off Neil again, and Neil took it upon himself to remind Billy of his place. She’d bring him the bag of peas from the freezer that Susan never cooked because there was this weird, unspoken understanding that they belonged to the bruises on Billy’s skin.

It was a silent offering, a nod of understanding, and Billy didn’t know what to do with it. He wasn’t used to having someone care for him in that way. The first three times she came to him he slammed the door in her face and told her to fuck off. But she kept coming back, wearing him down, until finally he accepted the peace offering, and they would sit in his room and play a few rounds of gin rummy to distract him from the pain swelling around his ribs.

He remembers just a week ago when she’d come home after church on Sunday and slipped into his room, careful to close the door behind her, and dropped a package of concealer on his bed.

“What’s this?” he’d asked, tone a little too sharp. Neil had hit him really hard last night when they came home ten minutes after curfew. He must’ve been really pissed, because it left a bruise under Billy’s right eye, and Neil was always so careful not to leave bruises in plain sight like that. He'd let Billy stay home from church that morning, for obvious reasons.

“It’s concealer,” Max answered. “Mom used to use it when dad got carried away and she didn’t want the ladies at church to ask questions.” Billy’s heart sank as he processed her confession. He knew Max’s dad had been a real ass, but he had no idea he’d been that kind of an ass.

“Did he ever…?” Billy found himself asking, and then he stopped, feeling guilty.

“No,” Max shook her head. “He only hit her.” Billy nodded, trying not to think too hard about how bluntly Max said it. There was no emotion in her voice, it was just a fact. Like saying that it’s cold outside or the sky is blue. He tore open the package and spent a solid minute staring at it, confused, before Max finally let out an exasperated sigh and showed him how to use it.

Things had improved a great deal between them over the past few months, but Neil is still something they didn’t talk about, so he isn’t really sure how to respond to what she’d said.

“I hope not, kiddo,” Billy replies at length, and jumps a little when soft, warm fingers touch his arm where it rests on the center console. He glances over at her, but she’s not looking back at him. She’s watching the road, still chewing on her bottom lip, hand curled around his arm in what he thinks is meant to be a comforting gesture, and he can’t help but smile a little at that. She really can be a sweet kid. He’s not sure how that happened, doesn’t know how he hasn’t managed to fuck her up like Neil’s fucked him up, but he’s damn grateful for it.

-

Neil takes Susan and Max up to Indianapolis on Saturday. They go up every couple of weeks to visit Susan’s mother, who was diagnosed with alzheimer’s back in the summer of last year. It’s part of the reason they moved out here, to be closer to Susan’s mother, Max’s grandmother. Billy hates going with them, because she’s not  _ his  _ grandmother and the old hag is a total nightmare. He has a hard time imagining why anyone puts up with her shit, even if she is dying. Neil made him go the first couple of times, trying to prove a point about respect and responsibility.

“She’s your family now, too, Billy.” He’d said, voice even in that way that made the hairs on the back of Billy’s neck stand on end. The thing about Neil Hargrove is that he isn’t the loose cannon a lot of people seem to think of when they find out he likes to smack Billy around.

Neil Hargrove is all about control. Controlling his surroundings, controlling how people perceive him, controlling his son. His actions are carefully calculated, his anger razor sharp and always aimed at just the right spot to make Billy crumble and submit. His fists never hit more than a couple times, maybe a few extra if Billy’s being particularly defiant, but his words, the tone of them, the disappointment that drips off the ends of them as they hang in the air between father and son; those burrow deep under Billy’s skin and etch out scars that will last much longer than the bruises his hands leave.

Billy learnt long ago that it was better not to fight him. So he went with them a few times, and then Neil got embarrassed when Susan’s mom called Billy his “delinquent son” one too many times, and stopped bringing Billy along. Billy couldn’t complain, really. It meant he had a whole Saturday to himself, no tiptoeing around Neil or Susasn, no having to tell them where he was going when he went out for a drive, no babysitting Max. Not that he minded that last one as much as he used to.

Today he finds himself driving up to Loch Nora, and he knows somewhere in the back of his head that he’d made the decision to seek out Steve before he even left his house. On some days, when he’s really good at lying to himself, he can’t put a finger on why he’s drawn to Steve. He feels a bit like a moth to a flame. Like he just can’t help but get close, despite how he knows it’ll only burn him. But on days when Billy’s being honest with himself, when he’s let his guard down, he knows that it’s more than some strange magnetism surrounding Steve that pulls him in. He knows that it’s the way his heart leaps into his throat whenever he catches a glimpse of Steve across the hall at school. He knows it’s how Steve’s smile makes something flutter in his stomach every time without fail, a feeling he hasn’t experienced so sharply since he was eight years old and Albert Wishaw wiped his tears with the sides of his thumbs after some kid at school pushed him and called him a faggot. Albert was two grades above Billy, and he was prettier than any of the girls the other boys always talked about. Billy didn’t know yet that a thought like that was wrong, and he remembers gushing to his mom about Albert after school. She’d humored him for several minutes, listening intently as she made dinner, and then she told him that he couldn’t think that way about other boys. Boys were supposed to like girls, and only girls.

He took that to heart, as he took most things his mom said to heart, and he did everything he could to repress that part of himself. It got easier to do after his mom died. Oliver Thompson kissed Billy behind the school only a week after they’d buried her, and it had felt strange and scary and good in a way Billy never felt when he kissed girls. But somehow word got back to Neil. That was the first time Neil ever hit him. And it seemed to flip a switch in Billy. He hadn’t let himself think about another boy in that way since.

But somehow Steve had taken that flip and switched it back on, and Billy was helpless to stop him. Steve represented all of the things Billy had learned to fear, and that made him so angry he saw red. So he lashed out, doing everything in his power to humiliate Steve and prove himself the alpha male. But then that night at the Byers’ house happened, and then things between him and Max started to shift, and for the first time in a long while he let himself feel guilty for the things he’d done.

What really changed things was seeing the bruises on Steve’s chest in the locker room one afternoon, not long after the fight. He’d been looking at his own bruises, real ugly black and blue ones that Neil had kicked into his side because he forgot to fill up the gas tank after borrowing Neil’s truck to help Tommy move some shit. He kind of expected Steve to comment on the bruises, to connect the dots that were obviously there and react accordingly. But he didn’t, or if he did, he didn’t say or do anything to give it away.

Billy wondered sometimes if he was becoming Neil, especially after particularly nasty fights with Max where he’d yell in her face and come within an inch of actually slapping her or grabbing her arms to shake her. Being confronted with the bruises he’d left on Steve’s skin right after seeing the ones his own father had left on his felt like confirmation of that. It had taken everything in him not to break down right then and there. But he didn’t. Instead he gave Steve a half-assed apology, because as guilty as he felt, he wasn’t used to apologizing for shit. And Steve actually surprised him when he called him out on it. That did something weird to Billy’s insides. Here was this kid that left him feeling all twisted up just by existing, and Billy had beaten the shit out of him only weeks ago, trying to prove something to who knows what. He had every justifiable reason under the sun to keep his mouth shut and say whatever he needed to placate Billy, but he wasn’t doing that. However badly Billy had beaten him, it wasn’t enough to dull the spark that seemed to fuel Steve Harrington. The kid had guts. And despite Billy’s better judgement, he liked that.

So he started pressing Steve’s buttons a little more, just toying with him, really. And any time he started to feel that anger boiling back up, he remembered the bruises on Steve’s chest juxtaposed with the bruises on his own sides, and he reeled it in. He wasn’t going to be like Neil anymore.

It was exhausting sometimes, because Steve was still all of these things that Billy was afraid of, and the more time he spent interacting with him in ways that weren’t so hostile, the harder he found himself falling. Which was something he really couldn’t afford to do.  _ Boys don’t like boys like that, boys like girls. _

He’s more or less thinking about all of these things as he pulls up to Steve’s house, and he’s worked himself into a bit of a mood because of it. Which is why he feels mostly relieved to find that Steve’s Beemer isn’t there. He thinks about searching for Steve, even drives off down the road with that intent in mind, but he loses his nerve pretty quickly and ends up just driving around aimlessly for a bit. He turns the radio up loud enough to nearly blow the speakers out, smoking through half a pack way too quickly, and tries to think about literally anything other than Steve Harrington.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason it's way easier for me to write from Billy's perspective. I'm not sure why. Maybe I just see him as being a little more introspective than Steve? And I really love that introspective shit. *shrugs*
> 
> Please let me know what you think! What you like, what you think about their interactions, if you want to see more of anything in particular, etc. I'm kinda floundering right now, so feedback of any kind would be super helpful.
> 
> I do have a bit more of an idea what direction I'm taking this in now, so... *cracks fingers over keyboard and cackles like a mad scientist*


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update time!
> 
> I wasn't sure if I'd actually be able to update tonight, but here it is. :)

Steve sits with his arms crossed over his chest protectively as Hopper goes off on him about letting Billy Hargrove drive Eleven home last night from the other side of the cramped booth. This wasn’t exactly what he had in mind when he woke up just a little after noon and thought some pancakes from the diner off of 7th sounded like the best brain food to help him get through his homework. But here he is.

“You said he could use friends,” Steve says as soon as Hopper stops to take a breath.

“I said he could use a friend like  _ you _ , Steve,” Hopper replies, running his hand over his face in exasperation. “It hasn’t even been six months since Eleven closed the gate, you know we have to lay low still.”

“I mean, you let her go to AV Club, and she hangs out at the arcade every couple of weeks, I didn’t think…” Steve trails off uncertainly.

“Yes, and I also keep her in a hovel out in the woods where prying, unfamiliar eyes won’t find her.” Hopper punctuates each word with a stab of his fork into the stack of pancakes sitting in front of him. Steve doesn’t really understand what the big deal is. Sure, Billy doesn’t know shit about the lab and the Upside Down, but Steve would hardly call him unfamiliar, let alone a threat to Eleven’s safety. Max trusts Billy, and Max doesn’t trust easily, so that’s good enough for Steve.

“He probably won’t even remember where it was,” Steve says, stabbing his own fork into a piece of bacon and lifting it to his mouth. “But I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.” Hopper closes his eyes and breathes in deeply, covering his face again as he drops his fork.

“I’m sorry,” he says at length and Steve nearly chokes on his bacon. He wasn’t expecting that.

“For what?” Steve asks, swallowing down a mouthful of bacon.

“Eleven’s been getting onto me a lot about losing my temper,” Hopper says, picking up a napkin to wipe his hands off. “And she’s right. You were just trying to make sure everyone got home on time. Eleven wasn’t in any danger. I know that. I just…”

“You’re scared.” Steve cuts him off, watching Hopper’s shoulders drop as he lets out a defeated breath and nods.

“Terrified,” he says. “All the time.”

“If it helps, so am I.” Steve tells him, and Hopper just raises an eyebrow in response. “I can’t sleep most nights, still. I have these dreams about being with all the kids down in those tunnels, and not being able to save them.”

“El goes missing,” Hopper says after a beat, voice quiet. “She just goes missing and I can’t find her anywhere. Sometimes I just know, somehow, that she’s...gone.”

“Do you think it will ever get easier?” Steve already knows the answer to that question, but he asks anyway.

“I doubt it, kid,” Hopper shakes his head and looks back down at his food. Steve just nods, letting out a heavy sigh, and suddenly he’s not very hungry anymore.

“I better go,” he announces, reaching into his pocket to pull out a few crumpled bills.

“Nah,” Hopper waves a hand dismissively at him. “I got it this time.”

“Thanks, Chief,” Steve smiles as he gets up from the booth.

“You going to the Wheeler’s tonight?” Hopper asks.

“I don’t think so,” Steve answers. He already told Dustin it wasn’t likely he’d be there, so he’s off the hook this week,

“Alright, well,” Hopper goes back to cutting into his stack of pancakes as he talks. “Stay out of trouble, whatever you end up doing.”

“Will do,” Steve smiles again and heads out of the diner.

It’s a little cold out for the end of March, but Steve doesn’t mind so much. He kind of likes the way the cold always seems to linger for as long as possible at the end of winter, like it’s not quite ready to relinquish its place to the warmth of Spring yet. He climbs into his car and cranks up the heater, glancing at the pile of books in his passenger seat. He’d had every intention of getting some homework out of the way after filling up on pancakes, but his conversation with Hopper has left him feeling restless. His parents are home this weekend, so going back the house and letting the noise of the TV drown out his thoughts is out of the question. He considers going to the arcade for a second, because it’s warm and distracting, but decides against it. The thought of going there alone makes him feel a little pathetic.

After debating with himself for a while, he settles on going to the library. He has little confidence in his ability to focus on homework right now, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t at least try. After all, he’s got colleges to impress, and he can’t let his GPA slip any lower than it already is if he’s going to succeed at it.

He finds a quiet corner to camp out in and gets started on his book report for English first. He hates writing book reports almost as much as he hates reading the books he has to write them about. He’s never been particularly good at English, too easily distracted when he tried to sit down and read. The themes always seemed to escape his notice, too. So when the teachers asked questions in class, he was left floundering. It was embarrassing, so eventually he started finding ways to deflect the questions with sarcasm and disinterest. His grades suffered for it, but it kept the scrutiny of his classmates at bay. Which, for the majority of his high school career was all he really cared about.

Nancy had helped him out, back when they were dating, and she was probably the only one that could explain things in a way that finally made sense to him. But he couldn’t rely on Nancy anymore. The truth is, she’d probably still help him if he just asked, but he wasn’t really willing to do that. So he’s forced to suffer through it on his own.

-

It’s been about three hours since Steve sat down to work on his book report, and he’s nearly finished but his hand is cramping and his neck feels stiff from being hunched over the table for so long. He decides to get up and walk around a bit, get some blood pumping through his limbs again.

He’s pacing through the non-fiction section when he spots Jonathan at the end of one aisle, crouched down in front of a row of books on botany. When did Jonathan Byers strike up an interest in plants? Steve turns abruptly on his heels and tries to sneak away, but he must not be stealthy enough because Jonathan’s calling out his name in that hushed voice everyone uses in a library.

“Steve, hey man,” he says and Steve turns around reluctantly.

“Hey,” he holds up a hand in an awkward gesture that he thinks was meant to be a wave initially. Jonathan watches him for a second, like he’s not quite sure where to go from here, and Steve feels something clench in his stomach when he notices the lingering bruise beneath Jonathan’s eye. It’s barely there, just a little red line that most people wouldn’t pay any attention to or know what they’re looking at if they did notice it. But Steve knows exactly what it is, because he’s responsible for it. And he’s acutely aware of the fact that he hasn’t actually apologized for it yet.

“Listen, man, about that,” Steve says, gesturing to his own eye with his hand.

“Oh, it’s…” Jonathan lifts a hand to his eyes instinctively, shrugging a bit.

“I’m sorry,” Steve cuts him off. “Seriously. You were just trying to defend her, and I mean, I was drunk, but I was out of line. So, I’m sorry.”

“Thanks,” Jonathan nods, glancing back down at the shelf he’d been looking at for a moment, and Steve breathes a sigh of relief, hoping that’s the end of it. But then Jonathan looks back up at Steve and he’s less nervous this time as he speaks.

“You know she’s just looking out for you, right?” he asks, setting anger alight in Steve’s chest. Here he is, trying to do the right thing, be the bigger guy, but of course Jonathan can’t just accept the apology and leave it alone. He’s got to try and make Steve feel more guilty about all of it. As if he’s not the one who ran off with Nancy the instant things went to shit between them.

“Let’s not do this, man,” Steve says, trying to quell the buzzing beneath his skin that makes his limbs ache with the need to lash out. “I’m sorry about your face, but that’s it. I’m not interested in having this conversation with you.”

“I’m just trying to understand why you still refuse to cut her any slack,” Jonathan responds and Steve swears he sees red. Cut her some slack? Honestly, the nerve of this guy. He’s starting to think Jonathan needs a black eye on the left side to match. Joyce’s voice sounds off in his head, though -  _ You’re not a bully, are you Steve? _ No, Steve’s not a bully, and he’s not interested in fighting.

“This isn’t your battle, Jonathan,” Steve finally says, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

“It is, because it affects Nancy,” Jonathan says, squaring his shoulders like he’s getting ready for a fight; Jonathan Byers sure has come a long way in the last two years, Steve would be proud if all that bravado wasn’t currently aimed at him. “She’s been through a lot, Steve, she doesn’t deserve the flack she gets from you.”

“Seriously, man, I’m  _ not _ doing this with you.” Steve repeats himself, shaking his head. “This is between me and Nancy. It has nothing to do with you.”

“It’s got nothing to do with me?” Jonathan’s eyebrows draw in at that, lips pressed together in a tight line. “Really?”

“Really,” Steve nods, because as much time as he’s spent wishing all kinds of ill will on Jonathan, he knows the guy’s not actually responsible for the fact that Nancy didn’t love him. Nancy didn’t love him because Steve isn’t the kind of guy you love. He never has been.

“Now please just...drop it.” Jonathan looks genuinely surprised by this, and Steve kind of gets it, but he’s also just really annoyed. He turns and walks back to his table in the corner, shoving all of his stuff back into his backpack and tucking his books under his arm. He leaves before Jonathan can find him or say anything else.

-

Billy wakes up to the feeling of someone shaking his shoulder on Sunday morning. His eyes shoot open immediately, expecting to see Neil towering over his bed, but it’s just Max. He grunts at her and turns over, stuffing his face back into his pillow.

“Billy,” Max hisses at him, grabbing his other shoulder and shaking some more. “Billy, seriously, get up. It’s eight-thirty.” Her words are like a bucket of ice cold water, making his stomach jump into his throat as he practically jolts out of bed.

“Shit!” he curses, then covers his mouth and looks frantically at his open door. He’d slept through his alarm, the alarm meant to wake him up in time to shower and get dressed for church. Neil Hargrove had never been a religious man when Billy was growing up, but Susan was, and Neil had readily adopted her Sunday routine like he’d never known anything else. Which meant Billy was expected to adopt it, too.

“Mom’s got breakfast on the table already,” Max says. “Neil’s still getting dressed. You’ve got like ten minutes.” Billy could hug the little rugrat, he swears, but he doesn’t. He just nods and shoos her out of his room, closing the door gently behind her and then rushes to pull on his church-appropriate clothes. He sprays on some extra cologne, because he smells like hell and he doesn’t have time to shower, hoping to god Neil won’t notice.

When he steps into the kitchen, everyone’s sat around the table. Neil’s entire upper body is hidden behind the morning newspaper, his fingers tapping away where they’re curled around the edges. Billy slides into his own seat and helps himself to some eggs.

“Good morning,” he says, hoping his voice doesn’t betray how nervous he feels. “Thanks for breakfast, Susan.”

“You’re welcome,” Susan smiles. They eat in silence for several minutes, and the tension Billy always carries in his shoulders when he’s around his father is just starting to ease when Neil clears his throat and lowers the newspaper, folding it up and setting it to the right side of his plate.

“Aren’t you going to ask how Susan’s mother is doing?” Neil asks, glancing down at his plate for just a moment to make sure he’s cutting into an actual piece of sausage and not the plate itself. Billy forces himself to swallow the food in his mouth and meet Neil’s eyes, which are now focused directly on his face.

“How’s Grandma Mayfield?” Billy responds, jaw clenching ever so slightly as he looks from Neil over to Susan.

“She’s doing quite well, actually,” Susan answers. “The doctors are hopeful this next round of treatment will improve her health even more.”

“That sounds promising,” Billy nods, forcing out a smile despite how much he couldn’t give a fuck, and then looks back at his father, searching for his approval. Neil isn’t watching him, though, concentrating instead on his plate again.

“Doc says she may be well enough to come visit in the summer,” Max interjects.

“Yeah?” Billy has an easier time looking pleased as he turns his attention to Max.

“Yep,” Max nods, small smile on her lips.

“Well, that’d be real nice, wouldn’t it?” Billy grins, and he knows that he’s letting too much sarcasm seep into his tone, but he’s hoping he can get away with it this time. 

“We should get going,” Neil derails the conversation, setting his knife and fork down on his plate and pushing back from the table to stand up. Susan gets up next and collects all of their plates, placing them in the sink. Max and Billy make their way to the front door, grabbing their jackets on the way out. Neil always insists on them driving to church together, so Billy leaves the keys to his Camaro and climbs into the backseat of Susan’s volvo with Max. He hates sitting in the backseat, hates the way Neil drives like a grandpa, slow as molasses down the narrow roads of Hawkins.

They arrive at church and settle into a pew toward the front of the sanctuary. Neil is all about keeping up appearances, so he likes to sit close enough to the front to be seen, but not so close that the pastor can make eye contact without having to try too hard.

Billy hates church. Hates the standing and the sitting and the way the hardwood of the pews makes his back ache. He hates the shitty music and listening to some old guy he’s met once ramble on and on about some old book that’s supposed to be inspired by some divine being who willed this shitty world into existence. He hates the way Neil schmoozes with the other churchgoers like some dirty politician, earning their trust and making it impossible for Billy to go anywhere in this damn town without people reminding him that he’s “Neil Hargrove’s son.” When they first got to Hawkins, there was a sense of anonymity that made it easy for Billy to get away with almost anything. But that hadn’t lasted long. Now it was like Neil had eyes everywhere. Billy couldn’t step too far out of line, or else some old church lady with nothing better to do would snitch on him come Sunday morning.

He watches from where he’s sat beside Max as familiar face after familiar face filters in through the church doors. This isn’t the only church in town, but it’s the one that the majority of people seem to attend, so he sees a lot of his fellow classmates. As if he doesn’t spend enough time around them at school all week.

There’s one familiar face, though, that he wasn’t expecting to see. Steve Harrington steps into the sanctuary, looking unbelievably good in a maroon sweater and dark slacks, and nerves spark off like electricity beneath his skin. Steve’s accompanied by a tall, slender woman with dark hair, and Billy’s never seen his parents but he’d bet anything that she’s Steve’s mom; she has the same nose, and she’s got an arm threaded through his with an air of familiarity that looks maternal. He’s never seen Steve here before. He figured Steve’s family just wasn’t religious, or maybe they attended one of the other churches in town. Apparently he was mistaken.

He resists the urge to sink down into his seat, because Neil would absolutely lay into him the instant they got home, but he does press his back into the pew a little tighter, turning his attention to the front of the room. He knows Max is at least two heads shorter than him, but he’s kind of hoping she’ll be enough to shield him from Steve’s view.

-

Billy’s managed to make it through the entire service without searching for Steve in the crowded pews, and he’s feeling pretty confident about being able to get away without incident. It’s not so much that he doesn’t want to see or talk to Steve, it’s that he doesn’t want to do so with Neil around. As far as he knows, Steve is someone that’s managed to stay completely off of Neil’s radar, and he’d prefer to keep it that way. As much for his own sake as Steve’s.

Unfortunately, luck is not on his side today. When is it ever, really?

He blames Max, because it’s her approaching Steve and Dustin on the lawn outside that brings Neil’s attention to them. Before Billy knows it, his father is making his way over to the trio and holding out a hand to Steve in introduction. Billy can’t make out what’s being said exactly, but Steve’s smiling that same goofy, charming smile he gives everyone, shaking Neil’s hand, and the whole exchange looks cordial enough. Billy considers going over there, but then someone’s tapping his shoulder and he turns around to face them instead.

It’s Nancy Wheeler. Her arms are folded over her chest and the expression on her face is scrutinizing in a way that sets his teeth on edge.

“What’s your angle, Hargrove?” she asks, to which he just raises an eyebrow, and that earns a heavy sigh and an eye-roll from her. “Steve may have forgotten about how you tried to kill him back in the fall, but I haven’t.”   
“Not really sure why any of that’s your business,” Billy bites back, because he doesn’t know Nancy at all but he knows enough about her to know she’s not his favorite person. “Don’t you have a new boyfriend to worry about?” Okay, so maybe he’s being a little petty with that comment, but he’s never claimed to be above a little pettiness.

“Steve’s a good guy,” she replies, eyes cold as she stares him down, blatantly ignoring his comment. “He deserves people in his life who are good to him. Last I checked, that wasn’t you.”

“Steve’s a big boy,” Billy smirks. “I think he can take care of himself.”

“Steve Harrington is an idiot,” Nancy says, but there’s nothing cruel in her tone, in fact it’s almost fond. “And he deserves better friends than you.”

Billy doesn’t really know what to say to that. On the one hand he wants to defend himself, wants to tell her to fuck off, because it’s not up to her who Steve is friends with. But on the other? He knows she’s right. Steve does deserve better people than Billy. In fact, he’s pretty sure literally any other person would be a better friend for Steve Harrington. Because Billy’s an asshole, and he’s fucked up, and he only knows how to break things. Especially good things. And Steve is a good thing, too good a thing. Billy would destroy him.

Some piece of this thought must show on his face, because for a second Nancy’s expression turns to one of sympathy, like she can read his mind. That pisses him off. He doesn’t need her sympathy, and he sure as hell doesn’t need her approval to be friends with Steve. He sneers at her and her face goes stone cold again. She glares at him once more, as if trying to reiterate her point with just her eyes, then turns and walks away. Billy feels like he swallowed a brick as he glances back at where Neil is still stood with Steve and the others. Steve is watching him now, face twisted up with what looks like concern, and Billy quickly looks away. He makes his way over to Susan’s car, where he waits until everyone’s done with their chit chatting so they can go home. Steve doesn’t approach him at all, and he’s both relieved and upset by it. Relieved because there’s a part of him that’s terrified of Neil seeing right through him the instant he sees him with Steve, and upset because some stupid part of his brain wants nothing more than to talk to Steve, to hear him laugh, and see that stupid smile on his face up close.

-

Steve makes his way out to the cemetery on Sunday night, because it’s been a while, and it might be cold enough to make sitting outside for an hour or two miserable, bordering on stupid even, but it sounds nice. He’s got a blanket in his trunk for warmth, and talking to Jules always helps to quiet the mess in his brain.

“Hey Jules,” he greets as he approaches her gravestone. “Nice weather we’re having, yeah?” He settles down in front of it, back pressed up against the cold stone, blanket draped over his shoulders, and knees tucked into his chest.

“Y’know, I think that groundhog is full of shit,” he rambles as he reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls a cigarette out of the pack he has stuffed in it. “I read that he sat outside his burrow for like an hour. Spring should’ve been here weeks ago, according to that bastard. Never trust a groundhog…” his voice trails off as he realizes that he’s forgotten to bring a lighter along, cigarette hanging loosely between his open lips.

“You should be more careful about getting caught talking to yourself in cemeteries like that, Harrington.” Billy’s voice is accompanied by the click of a lighter opening and Steve looks up to find that he’s standing just a few feet away. How the hell did he get so close without Steve realizing?

“That shit’ll get you locked up somewhere, far away from polite society.” Billy continues, an amused sort of glint in his eye.

“Y’know, sometimes I don’t think that sounds so bad,” Steve replies, pulling the cigarette from his mouth and motioning with the same hand for Billy to come closer with the lighter. “I’ll call the guys in white coats myself.” Billy laughs at that, like genuinely laughs, and Steve has a fleeting thought that he’d do whatever he could to hear that sound more often.

“You really are unhinged, aren’t you, Harrington?” Billy asks, and his smile is so genuine, all perfect, white teeth bared to Steve and Steve alone, it’s impossible for him to keep a smile off his own face. It’s kind of bizarre, seeing Billy here like this after the way he’d acted at church this morning. Steve wasn’t sure what to make of the way Billy had given him the cold shoulder, but he’s glad Billy seems to be over it now as Billy leans down, holding the lighter out to him, and he accepts it with a nod.

“You’re the one who keeps finding me out here, you know,” Steve points out as he puts the cigarette back between his lips and lights it, puffing a few times until he can get a good drag. “What’s your excuse?” Billy shrugs, smile falling from his face, and that makes Steve’s chest feel heavier suddenly. Something about Billy just looks right when he’s smiling, like that’s how he was made to look. Young, and vulnerable, and carefree.

“You stalking me, Hargrove?” Steve tries for more lighthearted.

“Someone’s gotta keep an eye on the town psycho,” Billy quips, smirking, and that eases the tension in Steve’s chest. He grins again, amused, and holds the cigarette up in a silent offer. Billy seems to hesitate, folding his arms over his chest and looking back toward the parking lot. Steve doesn’t like the way his body buzzes with nerves at Billy’s hesitation, like he’s afraid of being rejected. Since when has he cared about being rejected by Billy Hargrove of all people?

Billy seems to snap out of whatever thought he’d been taken by and steps over to take a seat beside Steve in front of Jules’ gravestone, accepting the cigarette from him and taking a long drag from it before handing it back. Steve tries not to get distracted with how warm Billy’s side feels only a few inches away from his.

“So…” Billy breathes out after about thirty seconds of holding the smoke in, looking directly at Steve’s face. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but...Who is Jules exactly?”

“Uh…” Steve feels a different set of nerves fire off inside of him at that, looking away and down at his knees almost immediately. He’s never talked to anyone about Jules, not even his parents. It’s not for lack of wanting to talk about her, it’s more so that no one’s ever asked. There are so many secrets he’s had to keep over the last two years, things he can’t talk about because they’ll ruin him and his family and the ones he cares about, and he’s so damn tired of it. Of all the secrets he holds close to his chest, Jules is the one that matters most to him, and she’s the one secret he has full autonomy over. But she’s the one secret no one’s ever asked to hear about. Until now.

“Shit,” Billy says under his breath, and that makes Steve look back up at him. “She’s really someone, then?” The way he’s looking at Steve, like somehow he gets it even though he doesn’t know shit, eases the buzz beneath Steve’s skin, makes it easier for him to say what he’s never said to anyone else before.

“She used to take care of me, when I was a kid,” he says, the words feeling foreign on his tongue. “Technically, she was my nanny, but I think she was the closest thing I had to a mom growing up.”

“Where’s your real mom?” Billy asks, and his voice is so quiet, almost gentle, it makes something in Steve ache.

“She sleeps in the room four doors down from mine,” Steve answers, not bothering to mask the bitterness in his tone. “She wasn’t really...around? Neither of my parents were. So I had nannies. Jules was one of them.” Billy doesn’t say anything, but he’s watching Steve like he knows there’s more to be said and he’ll wait for as long as it takes. Steve doesn’t really know what to do with that. He’s not used to having this kind of undivided attention, not even from Dustin, who treats Steve like he hung the stars on most days. He lifts the cigarette to his mouth and inhales, trying to focus on that instead of the way Billy’s gaze feels on the side of his face.

“She looked after me for almost three years,” he says at length, breathing out a shaky lungful of smoke. “I was seven when she started, and I was ten when she died.” His eyes feel wet, but he’s not quite crying. He realizes now why he’d never offered up this information voluntarily in the past. It feels like pulling a piece of himself out and holding it up for another person’s scrutiny, and it’s awkward and terrifying all at once.

“My mom died when I was twelve,” Billy breaks the silence. “She’s buried out in San Diego. We moved to up to Santa Barbara when I was fourteen, so I haven’t been to see her since.”

Obviously Steve knew that Billy’s mom had to be somewhere else, but he figured she was just back in California, living her life without Billy or his dad. He didn’t expect to find out they had this thing in common.

He tilts hit head down to rest his cheek on his knees, studying Billy carefully for a moment. There’s an uncomfortable disconnection between the vulnerability of his words and the emotionless expression on his face. Steve wonders how many times Billy’s had to tell people this truth of his without giving away too much.

“I can’t imagine not being able to visit,” Steve says, holding the cigarette up for Billy.

“I don’t know,” Billy shrugs, accepting the cigarette and fiddling with it between his thumb and forefinger almost absentmindedly as he speaks. “It’s not like she’s actually there anymore.” Steve doesn’t like that sentiment at all. It leaves him feeling like there are rocks settled in the pit of his stomach.

“Whatever you say, man,” he manages to croak out after a second, tightening his arms around his knees until they create a grounding sort of pressure against his chest. “It helps me, to feel like I’m still connected to her somehow.”

“What made her so different?” Billy asks, looking away as he takes a drag. “From all the others, I mean.”

“She was with me the longest,” Steve shrugs, swallowing hard around the emotion that claws its way up his throat as he tries to recall all the ways that she was important to him. “And I don’t know...Maybe it’s just the age that I was, or maybe it’s the fact that she didn’t choose to leave.” He’s not sure why he says that, not sure how he’s already said too much and yet has no desire to stop himself or take any of it back. Billy puts out the cigarette on the concrete that lines Jules’ grave and then tucks the butt of it behind his ear.

“Mom would whoop my ass now, if she knew that I was smoking,” Billy grins just the tiniest bit, and it’s a sad, nostalgic sort of grin that breaks Steve’s heart a little. “She always hated it when Neil smoked. Would rip the cigarette right out of his mouth and throw it down the sink.”

“Jules would probably do the same,” Steve says, offering half a smile in return. Billy looks at him then, blue eyes sharp and considering. It’s so different from the way he’s grown accustomed to Billy looking at him. He’s not sizing Steve up, looking for a weak spot to take advantage of, not even teasingly. He’s just looking at Steve like he’s really trying to see him.

He must see something worth sticking around for, because he sits there with Steve for the next several hours. Billy tells Steve more about his mom, and he doesn’t outright say as much but it’s obvious how much he misses her. He listens while Steve rambles his way through several stories about Jules, recalling memories that he’d nearly forgotten, feeling them leave his tongue like a weight he’d never realized was so heavy. Billy doesn’t talk about his dad, or why they moved to Indiana, but he talks about how he can’t wait to get out, and Steve can relate to that. The conversation turns to less serious things after a while, and pretty soon they’re laughing and spouting off some bullshit about their PE teacher and the joke of a football team at school.

By the time they part ways, Steve’s pretty sure his face is numb from the cold and he’ll be shivering for the next twenty-four hours at least, but there’s something inexplicably warm that settles into his chest when Billy waves goodbye as they part ways, smile so big, and crooked, and genuine. And Hopper had said that Billy could use a friend like Steve, but Steve thinks maybe he’s the one that’s in need of a friend like Billy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the kudos and comments so far! Y'all are too kind.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this installment. If you did, please let me know!  
> It really does make a huge difference to know people are reading and enjoying this. :)
> 
> I'm finally starting to get ahead a bit, so the next update shouldn't be more than a couple days out.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did this get to 30k already? Holy shit.
> 
> Anyway, here we goooooo....

Billy feels like a loser leaning up against his car in the school parking lot on Monday morning, smoking his third cigarette of the day, and trying not to look like he’s waiting for someone. He definitely is, but he doesn’t want people to be aware of it. He watches as his classmates make their way across the pavement and into the building, some of them waving to him as they pass by. He doesn’t acknowledge most of them, but he waves back to a group of girls, laying on the charm real thick with a big, toothy smile and a wink. They all blush and turn away to giggle and talk over each other, and he has to keep from rolling his eyes. It really is just too easy around here.

Steve pulls up in his Beemer right as the first warning bell sounds out. He’s not exactly the most punctual guy, Steve Harrington. Billy likes that about him. Growing up, it was drilled into him that being on time, early even, was a non-negotiable in life. It’s bordering on a pathological habit for him at this point, making him unbearably anxious any time he’s not at least ten minutes early to school in the morning. So he admires the way Steve seems so at ease to just come and go as he pleases with little concern for time.

He’s about to call out to Steve, to get his attention, when the other boy looks directly at him from where he’s stood on the other side of his car. He smiles, that crooked and goofy smile that never ceases to make Billy’s heart flutter in his chest, and then dips back into his car to grab his things before slamming the door and making his way over to Billy.

“You deaf, Hargrove?” Steve asks as he approaches. “Pretty sure that bell means it’s time to haul ass inside.”   
“You’re the one showing up at the last minute,” Billy replies, glancing around the parking lot. It’s empty. Literally every other student is inside already. So much for looking inconspicuous.

“You waiting to escort me or something?” Steve smirks, and that sets Billy on edge. He didn’t intend to give himself away so easily. He’s not even sure if Steve actually realizes what he’s implying and how close to the truth it is, but that does nothing to quiet his nerves.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Harrington,” Billy grits out, and he knows it comes out a little harsher than he means it to as he lifts his cigarette to his lips and takes an exaggerated final drag. His skin feels like it’s on fire as Steve looks at him, and the urge to lash out is creeping up his spine. He needs to extricate himself from the situation as soon as possible.

“Now why would I do that when I’ve got you to do it for me?” Steve quips, grinning again, and Billy thinks it might be some kind of peace offering. He tells himself to take it as one, anyway, because he can’t let himself get wrapped up in any alternative. He offers a sarcastic little grin in return, dropping the butt of his cigarette and crushing it into the pavement with his boot. He pulls his bag down from where it’s resting on the roof of his car and slings it over his shoulder, heading toward the school with Steve at his side. He’s grateful for once that they don’t share the same first class, relieved when they part ways at the first row of lockers. Steve just kind of waves as he turns down the opposite hall and Billy nods, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in before making his way to his own class.

-

He sees Steve again at lunch, carrying a brown bag in one hand and a notebook in the other. Billy usually spends his lunches in the cafeteria, schmoozing with a handful of his classmates in an attempt to keep up appearances. But he couldn’t stomach it today, so he came out to his car, where he could avoid everyone and get in a desperately needed smoke. Steve looks surprised to see him, like he wasn’t expecting to be seen on his way out to his own car.

“You ever eat?” Steve asks as he stops in front of him, glancing at the cigarette in Billy’s mouth and then meeting his eyes. Billy just shrugs. He eats plenty, thank you. He just doesn’t care for the food in the cafeteria and he’s too lazy to make himself lunch in the mornings.

“C’mon,” Steve sighs and gestures to his car with his head. Billy doesn’t have a chance to respond before Steve is walking away, but he hastily pulls away from his car and follows.

Steve settles onto the hood of his car and looks to Billy expectantly. Billy’s a little appalled by the blatant disregard for the paint job, but he figures it’s better Steve’s Beemer than his Camaro. So he takes a seat beside the other boy and leans back against the windshield. Steve lodges his notebook under one knee and opens up his lunch bag. He pulls out enough food for three people and then holds out a tangerine to Billy.

Billy just looks down at the tangerine and then back at Steve, raising an eyebrow in question.

“I always pack too much anyway,” Steve shrugs and sets the tangerine down between them.

“I don’t need you handouts, Harrington.” Billy responds. Steve just rolls his eyes and takes a bite of one of his sandwiches, because of course he has two sandwiches in that bag. Seriously who’s responsible for this kid?

They sit in companionable silence as Billy finishes off his cigarette and Steve scarfs down one sandwich, a bag of chips, and two tangerines. Billy’s not really sure when they started occupying quiet space like this with each other, but he’s aware that something’s shifted between them over the past couple of weeks. It’s like they’re actually friends now, instead of just teetering on the edge of it. He thinks it was probably last night that finally tipped the scales.

It’s a little terrifying, if he’s being honest. Steve was never supposed to become his friend. He was always a problem to solve, something that got in the way of Billy’s own self-denial, and he tried so hard for so long to keep him at arm’s length. Clearly he didn’t try hard enough. Because Steve somehow managed to wheedle his way past all that, and now he’s sitting here beside Billy in a silence that doesn’t feel awkward or tense in any way. He watches as Steve stacks orange peels on top of each other like he’s trying to build something out of them, tongue poking out the side of his mouth in concentration. He looks so adorably ridiculous, it makes something ache in Billy’s chest; and he knows he’s never been more screwed.

-

“We had dinner at the Byers’ last week,” Steve tells Dustin when the kid calls him on Thursday afternoon to inform him that they’re expected at the Byers’ house again that night. It’s been a long week, and it’s not even over yet, and Steve’s exhausted. He’d had every intention of curling up in front of the TV alone and eating the entire bag of cheese puffs that have been sitting in his pantry since Monday, taunting him. Because that’s what he does on most Thursday nights when he doesn’t have homework or dinner at the Byers’.

“Don’t tell me you’re busy, Steve,” Dustin says. “Because I know that’s a lie.”

“Fine, I’m not busy, but I’m not going over there again tonight.” Steve replies, rolling his eyes.

“You have to, Steve, c’mon.” Dustin’s voice is going all whiney in that way he absolutely hates. He sounds like a petulant child and Steve’s told him too many times now not to use it with him, but he never listens.

“No, I actually don’t have to,” Steve says. “There’s literally no reason that I should have to.”

“Seriously, man,” Dustin sighs through the phone. “Why not?”

“Cause I don’t want to.” Steve answers. “Give me one good reason why I should.”   
“Because I said so?” Dustin’s voice goes up a little at the end of his sentence, making it a question; he knows it’s a shit reason, but he’s determined apparently.

“Goodbye, Dustin,” Steve reaches for the receiver on his nightstand to hang up.

“Wait!” Dustin shouts and Steve’s glad he’d already moved the phone away from his ear. “We’re meeting tonight because there’s, uh, something weird? We saw something weird in the woods.”

“What?” Steve’s whole body goes cold.

“Yeah,” Dustin continues. “We didn’t want to freak anyone out, but it’s really important we all get together  _ tonight _ .”

“Jesus,” Steve breathes out, feeling sick to his stomach. “Okay, fine. I’ll be there.”

“Cool,” Dustin responds and he sounds way too pleased about it. Steve tries to take this as a sign that he shouldn’t completely freak out just yet. Surely if the situation were that serious, Dustin wouldn’t sound so damn casual about it. He agrees to be at the Byers’ at seven and hangs up, then drops his face into the nearest pillow and seriously considers smothering himself with it.

It’s true that ever since Eleven closed the gate, they’ve all kind of been in this weird place of just waiting for the other shoe to drop. He just didn’t really expect it to be so soon. To be honest, he’d kind of hoped he could get out, be somewhere far away from Hawkins before anything strange happened again.

-

“Surprise!” everyone yells as Steve steps through the front door of the Byers’ house. His heart jumps into his throat at the unexpected noise and he stops in his tracks, mouth agape as he blinks, confused, at the group of smiling people in front of him. There’s a banner hanging above the dining room entry with the words ‘Happy Birthday’ scrawled across it in sloppy handwriting, and half-blown balloons all over the floor. They’re all wearing stupid party hats and holding those little horns people use to make loads of noise.

“Uh…” Steve is at a loss for words. He didn’t think anyone knew or cared to remember that his birthday was today. Hell, he’d practically forgotten himself. Or that’s what he told himself, anyway. It’s kind of hard to forget that your 18th birthday is happening. But most years his birthday went unnoticed by everyone around him, and he’d grown accustomed to just letting it slip by without much thought.

“His birthday  _ is _ today, right?” Mike asks from where he’s stood between Eleven and Dustin, party hat sitting nearly sideways on his head.

“ _ Of course _ it is,” Dustin snaps, rolling his eyes at Mike, and then he looks back at Steve’s dumbfounded face and the confidence in his expression falls. “Right?”

“Yeah,” Steve snaps his mouth shut and nods. “It is...I just…I wasn’t expecting all of this.”   
“You really thought we were just going to let your 18th birthday pass by?” Dustin asks, incredulous. Steve just shrugs.

“Well, you’re an idiot,” Lucas pipes up, grinning. “We never forget a party member’s birthday.” Steve feels something warm settle in his heart at that. He’s been playing D&D on and off with these nerds for several months now, but he’d always assumed they just tolerated him for Dustin’s sake; he didn’t realize they actually considered him a part of their party.

“C’mon, we made you a cake and everything.” Dustin says, smiling brightly. “You do like cake, right?”

“Of course,” Steve laughs, reaching a hand out to pull the hat on Dustin’s head up and let it snap back to his head; Dustin responds by flipping him off as he readjusts the hat.

“Okay, but dinner first, then cake.” Joyce says, standing beside Hopper beneath the ‘Happy Birthday’ banner. Steve feels little arms wrap around his waist as he watches Joyce disappear into the kitchen with Jonathan and Nancy. He looks down to see a mop of curly, brown hair pressed against his chest and smiles, wrapping his arms around Eleven and squeezing.

“Happy birthday, Steve,” she says, grinning up at him as she pulls away.

“Thanks,” he replies, patting her on the head affectionately. He accepts several more ‘Happy Birthday’ wishes from the other kids as they make their way into the dining room.

“Happy birthday,” Hopper says as he squeezes Steve’s shoulder, and he looks absolutely ridiculous with the small party hat on his head, strap tucked awkwardly under his chin. Steve can practically see Eleven holding the hat out to Hopper expectantly, eyes big and round and convincing in that way only Eleven can be. There’s no way he’d be wearing it otherwise.

“That’s a good look on you, Chief,” Steve teases. “Should make that part of the uniform from now on.” Hopper’s easy smile turns to an exasperated glare, and Steve just grins back as he takes a seat between Dustin and Will at the table.

It turns out dinner is a stack of large pizzas and some pre-made salad mix tossed together with ranch dressing. Steve absolutely loves it. They chow down and he listens as Lucas and Dustin argue about which film was better - Nightmare on Elm Street or Friday the 13th. Steve’s not partial to either, so he just watches in amusement as the vein on Lucas’ forehead gets more and more pronounced the longer Dustin insists Nightmare on Elm Street is superior. Max interjects at one point to ask why they’re not just talking about how The Terminator is the clear winner of films from the previous year. Steve’s surprised the whole table doesn’t go up in flames following the uproar that earns from all of the other nerds.

Somewhere between Max calling Mike a plebe and Dustin throwing a piece of soggy lettuce at Lucas’ face, Steve gets up to help Joyce clear the table.

“Hey now, no work for the birthday boy,” Joyce says as he steps into the kitchen with an armful of plates.

“Seriously, I just needed an excuse to get out of there.” Steve responds, taking the plates over to the sink and dumping them. Joyce chuckles as she pulls the cake out of the fridge and takes it over to the counter. It’s a truly hideous thing, all lopsided with chocolate frosting that looks like it was haphazardly spooned onto it. The words ‘Happy Birthday Steve’ are written across the top in dark green icing and there’s about three handfuls of rainbow sprinkles dumped all over it. Steve doesn’t think he’s ever loved a cake more.

“So eighteen, huh?” Joyce says conversationally as she fishes a box of candles out of the back of a drawer. “That’s a pretty big deal. Do you feel like a grown-up yet?”   
“Definitely,” Steve replies sarcastically. “Hell, before I know it you’ll be putting me up in the senior home on Oak.” Joyce laughs at that, glancing up at him with a big smile on her face.

“Pretty sure I’ll end up there long before you do,” She says and starts stabbing candles into the cake. “Now shoo, get back out there before they realize you’ve seen the cake already.” Steve puts up his hands in mock surrender and backs out of the kitchen.

“Steve!” Dustin shouts as soon as he sees him. “Can you please explain to Max why she’s wrong?”   
“About what exactly?” Steve raises an eyebrow, returning to his place beside him. Dustin opens his mouth to answer but is interrupted by Joyce stepping out of the kitchen singing ‘Happy Birthday’, hideous cake in hand. Steve doesn’t know what to do as everyone sings, he’s not exactly used to this, and there’s something incredibly awkward about an entire room of people literally singing to you. They sound terrible, of course. Dustin’s the only one who can actually sing out of the lot, and he’s not even trying. It’s completely off-key and Steve’s pretty sure at least half of them couldn’t follow a rhythm to save their life. He has to bite his tongue to keep from outright laughing at them as they sing the final ‘Happy Birthday to you’ and cheer when he blows out the candles.

The cake is a little dry, but it’s homemade and it’s better than any of the store-bought cakes his mom has brought home for him over the years, usually three days late and with his name misspelled in perfect calligraphy. It’s better because it was made by people who apparently care about him enough to put in the time and effort to not only remember his birthday but to try and make it special.

They all pile into the living room with their cake, and Steve squeezes in between Eleven and Will on the floor in front of the couch. It’s a solid fifteen minutes of arguing about what movie to watch before everyone finally agrees on Star Wars. Jonathan starts it up, turning off most of the lights on the way to his spot by Nancy on the couch, and they all settle down to watch.

They’re only about halfway through the movie when there’s a knock on the door, and Max jumps up almost immediately.

“Shit,” she curses. “That’s Billy.” She grabs her hoodie from the side of the couch and slips it on as she makes her way over to the front door. Steve perks up at that, looking immediately to the door.

“Oh, Max, sweetie, take some cake with you,” Joyce says, getting up from the couch and disappearing into the kitchen. Max opens the door to an uncharacteristically relaxed looking Billy leaned up against the doorjamb.

“Hey,” she greets him. “C’mon in. Joyce is just grabbing some extra cake for us.” Billy nods and steps into the living room. His eyes find Steve almost immediately, making eye contact for just a moment, and then he scans the rest of the room. Steve can’t help but notice the way his expression hardens when he looks at Nancy, and she doesn’t look any more pleased as she watches him.

“Whose birthday is it?” Billy asks, gesturing to the banner with his hand.

“Steve’s,” Dustin pipes up from behind Steve’s head, and Billy’s eyes fall on Steve again.

“No shit,” he says, smirking. “Well happy birthday, Harrington.” And his tone is just on the wrong side of mocking, it leaves a hollow feeling in Steve’s stomach. He liked to think that he and Billy were finally becoming actual friends, having spent every lunch at school this week out on the hood of his car, but this didn’t feel friendly. It felt like a taunt, like the way Billy used to speak to him before they’d started this tentative friendship.

“Thanks,” Steve forces out a smile that’s way too big and ingenuine, because he has no idea how else to respond to that, and then turns his attention back to the TV before he can see how Billy reacts.

“Here,” Joyce comes back out of the dining room then with a plate covered in tin foil. “Thanks again, Billy, for bringing Will home today.”

“Sure thing, Mrs. Byers,” Billy answers and Steve knows he’s probably smiling, but he refuses to look.

“Bye, Max!” Lucas calls and Steve finally glances up to see Max waving at everyone.

“Seeya,” she smiles, cheeks tinged pink. “And happy birthday, Steve!”   
“Thanks, Max.” Steve smiles at her genuinely and lifts his own hand to wave. He can’t resist looking at Billy just once more, who’s looking right back at him, and lets the smile drop from his lips immediately. He’s not really sure how to interpret the look on Billy’s face then, but it’s not quite the cool confidence he’d displayed only moments ago. Joyce closes the door behind them and settles back onto the couch, and Steve tries his damndest to concentrate on the movie instead of thinking about the look on Billy’s face.

-

By the time the movie ends, it’s a little after ten and Mrs. Henderson shows up to collect Dustin and Lucas.

“I’m assuming the whole weird thing in the woods thing was just a lie?” Steve asks as he lets Dustin hug him.

“Figured that out all on your own?” Dustin says as he pulls away, smiling. “You really are all grown up now.”   
“Fuck off,” Steve rolls his eyes and pushes him toward the door, ignoring the relief he feels at Dustin confirming that all’s well in Hawkins, Indiana. For now, anyway.

“See you on Saturday?” Dustin asks, stopping in the doorway.

“Sure, man, I’ll be there.” Steve nods and Dustin smiles again before leaving.

“Steve?” Nancy says from where she’s standing by the hallway entry. Steve turns to look at her, swallowing against the sudden lump in his throat. He’d done his very best to avoid her over the past two weeks, and he’d succeeded thus far, but he knew it had to come to an end eventually.

“What’s up, Nance?” he replies.

“Can we talk?” she asks, looking almost as nervous as he feels. He clings to that, wishes it made him feel better, but it doesn’t.

“Sure,” he nods once and follows her as she heads for the front door. They sit down side-by-side on the porch steps and an uncomfortable silence stretches out between them. Steve finds that the words “I’m sorry” are sitting right at the back of his throat, just waiting to be released. It’s like an impulse for him, to blurt out “I’m sorry” any time he knows he’s done something to upset Nancy. And this time he knows he has a reason to apologize, but there’s a part of him that doesn’t want to. He’s apologized so many times to Nancy, for so many reasons, even when he had nothing to actually apologize for, and he can’t think of a single time she’s apologized to him.

“So...what’s up with you and Billy Hargrove?” she says at length and Steve gawks at her. Really? This is what she wants to talk about? Not the fight or the fact that she broke his heart or any of the other shit between them, shit that’s actually her business?

“It just,” she continues when he doesn’t reply. “It seems like you guys are friends now or something, and I’m worried about you. Did you forget that he nearly killed you?”

“Seriously?” Steve finally spits out. “I pushed you, and  _ punched _ your boyfriend like two weeks ago, and this is what you want to talk about?”   
“I mean, aren’t they related?” Nancy asks, and Steve has to restrain from physically smacking himself in the face.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Steve sighs and Nancy just stares at him, confused. “Listen, I don’t really give a fuck what you think about Billy or me hanging out with him. Hell, you can hate the guy for all I care. But you cannot blame him for what  _ you  _ did.”   
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she crosses her arms over her chest. For someone so intelligent, she really can be an idiot sometimes.

“It means that you’re the one who fucked up, Nancy.” Steve snaps, and she opens her mouth to respond but he doesn’t give her a chance. “You broke my heart, and you didn’t even apologize for it. I said what I said because on most days, I really think I hate you. You don’t get to blame that on anyone else but yourself.” It’s the most honest he’s ever been with Nancy in the entire two years that they’ve really known each other as more than just passive classmates, and it leaves his hands shaking. He’s not used to standing up for himself when it comes to Nancy, not used to shoving down the impulse to just make amends and tell her everything is fine. She looks genuinely surprised by everything he said, breaking eye contact with him to look down at her fingers where they’re intertwined in her lap, and he thinks maybe that hurts the worst. After everything they’ve been through, she doesn’t know him at all. He feels that realization like a blow to the chest, and he really just can’t be here anymore.

“I have to go,” he says after several beats of silence, standing up and taking a few steps toward his car. “And you know what? Just for the record, Billy’s apologized for the shit he did. So, as far as I’m concerned, he’s a better friend than you.” It’s a low blow and he knows it, because Billy’s done a whole hell of a lot of shit to more people than just Steve and he knows that, but he also means what he said. In a competition between Billy and Nancy for who’s been a better friend to Steve in the last few months, Billy wins by a mile. He pointedly doesn’t think about the way Billy had spoken to him in front of everyone earlier that evening. It’s true that it left a bad taste in his mouth, but he knows that just because Billy’s started to open up around him doesn’t mean he’s ready to do so around everyone else.

He doesn’t wait for Nancy’s response as he turns and walks to his car. He climbs in and starts it, glancing up briefly to see Nancy just watching him from the steps, eyes glassy with tears. It hurts. Somewhere deep in his chest, there’s a stab of pain and he wants climb out of his car and go back to her, say all of the right things to make it right and see those tears dry up; but he can’t do that. He’s done doing that. So he turns around on the lawn and drives away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes. Okay, to be honest I'm not really sure how I feel about this chapter. But I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> I feel like I'm in that awkward place where I have a better idea of where this is going but I'm not totally sure how to get from Point A to Point B. Also I'm second guessing everything from plot progression to characterization, and that's making it really hard to just carry on in the direction I'm already headed. But alas, I will carry on.
> 
> To everyone who's been actively following along - Y'all are troopers!
> 
> As usual, let me know what you think! And thanks so much for all of the support so far. Words cannot express how much I appreciate it. :)
> 
> ps - I listen to a shit ton of music in general, but especially when I'm writing, and the song that I've been coming back to a lot for this fic is the Soulwax remix of Sprawl II by Arcade Fire (you can find it on youtube or soundcloud). In case anyone's interested. ;)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update time! ~(˘▾˘~)

Steve doesn’t show up at school on Friday. Billy waits an extra ten minutes after the final warning bell for him, but he never shows up. His Beemer’s not in the parking lot when Billy goes out to his car at lunch, like he’s been doing all week. He wonders if Steve could be sick, but then he remembers that he just saw him last night and he looked fine. He considers asking Nancy if she knows anything, but thinks better of it after he remembers the way she’d glared at him in the Byers’ living room. Besides, she looks especially irritable today, so he’d rather not engage if he can help it.

He doesn’t like not being able to see Steve, especially after their interaction last night. He knows he was an ass, and there’s this nagging in the back of his head telling him that he’s ruined everything. To be honest, he’s as anxious to find out if Steve’s alright as he is to know for sure whether things are okay between them.

He makes it through the school day with a jumble of nerves feeding into quiet worry in his stomach, and is about to lose it by the time Max finally makes her way over to the car from the Middle School.

“What took you so long?” he snaps, and she glares at him, unimpressed by the outburst.

“I literally just got out of class, jackass,” she says, opening the passenger side door and climbing in. Billy gets into the driver’s seat and starts up the car. Nerves give way to irritation beneath his skin as he peels out of the parking lot a little too harshly, causing an unprepared Max to slam into the passenger side door.

“What the hell is your problem?” Max asks, righting herself and rubbing at her side.

“Nothing,” he grits out, glaring at the road ahead of them while Max glares at the side of his head. She mumbles something under her breath, turning away from him, and normally he’d yell at her to speak up, but he’s trying to be better. So he bites the inside of his cheek and counts to ten in his head.

“If Neil’s home, tell him I went to the library to study.” Billy says as he pulls up to the curb outside their house.

“Where are you really going?” Max asks as she gets out of the car, tucking her skateboard under her arm.

“None of your business,” he replies sharply. She responds with a roll of her eyes, slamming the car door and then flipping him off before making her way across the lawn and up to the house. He would feel a little guilty, but he knows Max won’t take it personally. He shifts back into drive and heads off in the direction of Steve’s neighborhood, figuring he can look for him there first.

-

Steve catches sight of Billy’s Camaro in front of his house when he returns from a run. Billy is standing outside his front door, and he looks nervous, fidgeting with the sleeves of his jacket and staring at the door like he thinks he can burn a hole through it with his eyes.

He can’t be sure why Billy’s at his house, but considering it’s just after school lets out and Steve skipped today, he’s pretty confident in assuming that Billy was worried and came here to check on him. That causes a warmth to settle at the back of Steve’s neck and down into his chest.

“You plotting a break-in, Hargrove?” He asks as he makes his way up the driveway, still panting a bit from his run. Billy spins around to look at him, eyes wide with surprise.

“Jesus, Harrington,” He breathes out, glancing across the driveway at Steve’s Beemer and then back at Steve. “What, uh, what are you doing out here?”   
“I could ask you the same thing,” Steve smirks; he’s not used to seeing Billy look this flustered, it’s oddly endearing.

“You weren’t at school today,” Billy says and then makes a weird face, like he wasn’t expecting to actually say that.

“D’you miss me?” Steve’s smirk grows when Billy’s face turns a little pink. He hasn’t made someone blush like that since he used to tease Nancy about the birthmark on her hip. He likes it, likes the way the blush of his cheeks stands out against the tan of his face.

“Whatever, man,” Billy shrugs dismissively, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I just...wanted to make sure you had a real reason to skip school. I mean, if  _ I  _ can’t skip just cause I feel like it, it’s only fair no one else gets to.”

“Sure,” Steve nods, tone sarcastic, and steps around the other boy to open his front door and go inside. He turns back around when Billy just continues to stand outside the door, watching him.

“You coming in or…?” Steve asks. Billy looks surprised once again, but nods and steps inside. “I don’t have a good excuse, by the way. Just didn’t really feel like putting up with all the bullshit today.”   
“I’d never be at school if I lived by that rule,” Billy scoffs.

“Yeah, well,” Steve heads into the kitchen, pulling a water bottle out of the fridge and uncapping it. “Pays to have perfect attendance the rest of the year.” Billy doesn’t respond to that, just shrugs again and turns his attention to the cabinet full of expensive china on the wall opposite the kitchen table as Steve chugs half the bottle in his hand.

“Your parents collectors or something?” Billy asks, tapping a finger to the pristinely cleaned glass.

“My mom works with antiques,” Steve answers, leaning against the kitchen counter while he catches his breath from chugging all that water. “She brings a lot of shit home.”

“Must be pretty lucrative,” Billy mumbles, looking back at Steve.

“It’s a hobby, mostly,” Steve shrugs. “But it keeps her busy, and it’s furnished most of this place.”

“What about your old man?” Billy walks back over to the island and hops up onto it.

“He works in insurance,” Steve tells him. “Mostly life insurance, but he keeps rattling on about expansion these days, so I think they’re getting ready to branch out.”

“Sounds lame.” Billy says, looking around the kitchen and twiddling his fingers. He still looks nervous and Steve doesn’t know why. Billy’s the kind of guy who seems to always be fidgeting, like he needs constant stimulation to keep his head on straight. It’s something Steve’s always been keenly aware of, but this feels different.

“What about your old man?” Steve isn’t really thinking when he blurts it out, and wishes immediately that he could take it back when Billy goes completely still. He’s still not completely sure what’s up between Billy and his dad, but Billy’s reaction is enough to convince him Hopper’s onto something. The other boy starts chewing his bottom lip, looking anywhere but at Steve’s face.

“He works for the government.” Billy says after a beat.

“Cool,” Steve nods, desperate to change the subject as the tension gets thicker between them. “What about Susan?”   
“She sells Mary Kay shit,” Billy’s still tense as he answers, but he meets Steve’s eyes this time.

“No shit?” Steve laughs at that. “So does she have like all the other moms in the neighborhood come over so she can sell them shit?”   
“No, she goes to their houses,” Billy cracks a smile at that, finally. “Thank god.”   
“That’s a shame,” Steve grins. “She’d probably make bank using you to reel ‘em in.”

“What?” Billy practically shrieks, and then coughs into his hand.

“Oh, c’mon, you totally have all the old housewives in this town practically gagging for you.” Steve teases. “If I had a dollar for every time Mrs. Wheeler finds a way to bring you up in conversation…”   
“Jesus,” Billy groans, and he’s blushing again. Steve wants to reach out and touch his face, find out if his skin feels as warm as it looks. He doesn’t though, because that would be weird. 

Before he can say anything else, tease Billy some more to keep him blushing in that way that makes his stomach feel like it’s full of butterflies, the sound of the door opening and closing interrupts them.

“Yoohoo!” Steve’s mom calls from the foyer. “Stephen, are you home?”

“In the kitchen!” Steve calls back and Billy smirks at him, mouthing “Stephen?” Steve makes a face at him and takes another sip of his water.

Steve’s mom comes into the kitchen with an array of helium filled balloons attached to a gift bag in one hand and a bakery box in the other.

“Oh, I was wondering who’s car was outside.” She says as soon as she notices Billy sitting on the counter, eying him a bit warily; she takes a lot of pride in her perfect, granite counters. “Who’s this?”

“Mom, this is Billy,” Steve says, gesturing to Billy. “Billy, this is my mom.”

“Hi, Mrs. Harrington,” Billy responds, slapping on a smile that oozes charm and jumping down from the counter to hold a hand out to her. “It’s nice to meet you.”   
“You too, Billy,” she smiles, albeit a bit apprehensive, and holds the cake out to Steve to take before accepting Billy’s hand and shaking it. “You go to school with Stephen?” Steve glances down at the cake as he sets it on the counter. The letters are impeccably done, spelling out “Happy 18th Steven” across the top of the cake. For crying out loud, she literally named him Stephen, with a P and an H, you’d think she’d learn to double check the spelling once in a while.

“Yes, ma’am,” Billy nods, still smiling.

“Well, I hope you two don’t have plans,” she says, turning to set the gift bag on the counter beside the cake and looking at Steve. “I meant to call, but I wanted to surprise you.”

“Surprise me?” Steve asks.

“For your birthday, of course!” She smiles, wide and way too enthusiastic. “You really think I would miss the big eighteen?”

“Course not,” Steve forces a smile in return. “I thought dad was going out of town again this weekend?”   
“He is,” she says, waving a hand dismissively and going to the fridge to put the cake in. “But I convinced him to leave tomorrow so we can have dinner tonight. Lucky your birthday fell on a Friday this year.” Steve feels his heart sink into his stomach at that. She’s always been bad about acknowledging his birthday the day of, but he didn’t realize she actually didn’t even know the real date anymore. He glances at Billy, who’s watching him out of the corner of his eye, curiosity clear on his face.

“Yeah, lucky that,” Steve says, because he just doesn’t have the heart to tell her his birthday was actually yesterday, especially not in front of Billy. If there’s one thing his mom hates most, it’s being humiliated in front of other people.

“So?” she turns back around to look at Steve, closing the fridge behind her. “Dinner then? Your father will be home around seven.”   
“Yeah,” Steve replies, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “Are we going out?”   
“Your pick,” she nods, oblivious smile still on her face.

“How about Sal’s?” he suggests.

“That Italian place on Hayfield?” she looks unimpressed, but not opposed.

“Yes,” Steve answers. “Haven’t been there in a while. They have really good lasagna.”   
“Okay,” she nods again, reaching a hand up to touch his arm in a show of affection; it’s awkward and Steve has to stop himself from moving away from it, because his mom’s never been very good at the whole affection thing. “Be ready by seven.” And then she gives Billy a once-over and a terse smile before leaving the room.

“So…” Billy clicks his tongue. “Is your birthday today or yesterday?”   
“Yesterday,” Steve admits, taking another sip of his water before resealing it. He doesn’t look at Billy, doesn’t want to see the pity on his face, instead he looks down at the water bottle in his hand and starts to pick absentmindedly at the label.

“I guess I should get out of your hair,” Billy says at length, and when Steve finally looks up the other boy’s face is surprisingly neutral.

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, folding his arms over his chest. “Yeah, sorry about that. I seriously didn’t think they’d be home tonight.”

“It’s cool, man,” Billy shakes his head and heads for the foyer, turning around briefly to look at him again. “See you at school on Monday? Or are you planning on playing hookie again?”   
“Ha-ha,” Steve replies sarcastically. “Yeah, I’ll see you on Monday.” Billy smirks and continues down the hall, out of sight. Steve listens for the door to close behind him and then bends over to rest his head on the counter for a minute. He can feel the edges of something ugly and painful easing its way into his chest, gripping his heart and squeezing tight until tears prick at his eyes. It never gets any easier, this whole birthday thing, no matter how many years its been since his parents actually acknowledged his birthday on the right day. He thought he’d be used to it by now, or at least numb to it, but he isn’t  And it feels pointedly wrong to have them be  _ so fucking close  _ to actually remembering this one, but still managing to miss the mark.

He stands back up and makes his way up the stairs to his bathroom, on the verge of tears as he sheds his shorts and t-shirt and turns on the shower. He steps under the warm stream and lets himself finally break down as the water washes away the tears. The last thing he wants to do is put on nice clothes and pretend to enjoy lasagna with his parents, all while they inevitably talk about how crazy it is that he’s already eighteen. Of course the past eighteen years have flown by for them, they haven’t really been here for most of them. He turns up the hot water, letting the way it leaves his skin flushed and red distract him from the pain in his chest.

-

Billy doesn’t know why he’s outside Steve’s house throwing pebbles at his bedroom window at one o’clock in the morning, but he thinks it has something to do with the way Steve’s face had looked when his mom came home and told him they were going to celebrate his birthday. His birthday that she’d apparently forgotten the actual date of. He has no idea how someone can be that dense. Wasn’t she there when it happened?

He’s pretty sure Steve is home because it’s too late to still be out, but he’s been throwing pebbles at his window for at least five minutes now and has yet to get a response. He feels stupid standing out here, like some lovestruck teenager trying to sneak into his girl’s bedroom late at night while her parents are sleeping. That’s not exactly his intention, of course. But he’s beyond lying to himself about the crush he has on Steve at this point, so there is a part of him that wishes that’s what this is.

He’s just about to give up when he hears the sliding glass door open, and he considers hiding behind the nearest bush but then he sees Steve stepping out onto the porch. His arms are wrapped around his waist and he’s barefoot, wearing just pajama pants and a t-shirt, looking sleep rumpled and grumpy. His hair, which is normally full of volume and styled so perfectly Billy wonders how long the guy actually spends on it every day, is sticking up at weird angles on one side and mostly flat on the other. It’s adorable. Billy tries not to think about how many times he’s wondered how soft it is, how often he’s thought about reaching out and touching, running his fingers through it.

“What the fuck?” Steve says, yawning as he squints in Billy’s direction.

“Hey,” Billy feels his face flush and takes a step toward him.

“What are you doing here, man?” Steve asks. “It’s ass o’clock.”

“It’s Friday,” Billy retorts.

“So? You don’t sleep on Fridays?” Steve rolls his eyes.

“Sorry, I just…” Billy feels self-conscious suddenly, with Steve just staring at him in the dark, illuminated only by the half moon in the clear night sky. “I’ve got weed and a six pack in the car. Thought maybe you’d be interested in hanging out or something?”   
“You’re exactly the kind of boy the girls at school always warned me about,” Steve responds, tone light and teasing.

“Fuck off,” Billy says, but there’s no bite to it. “I just thought, I don’t know, that shit with your mom earlier looked rough. I thought you might want to let off some steam.” Steve looks embarrassed to have someone call him out like that, but he considers Billy quietly for a minute.

“Okay, fine,” he finally says, still hugging himself. “Let me get some shoes at least.” Billy nods and Steve disappears back into the house. It’s only a couple of minutes before he’s stepping back out, this time with shoes and a jacket. He looks kind of ridiculous in his flannel pants and bomber jacket, but Billy’s not complaining. Steve gestures for Billy to lead the way and follows him around the side of the house, out the back gate, and over to Billy’s car. As soon as Billy’s started the car Steve reaches over and cranks up the heat.

“Is it just me or is Spring taking for-fucking-ever to get here?” he asks, rubbing his hands together and holding them out in front of the vent.

“I wouldn’t know,” Billy responds. “Besides, didn’t you grow up here? Shouldn’t you be used to the cold?”   
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the cold,” Steve shakes his head. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like it alright when it’s Winter. But it’s almost April, for crying out loud.”

“I don’t know, man, I’m used to seventy degrees at Christmas.” Billy says.

“Okay, now that’s fucked up, too.” Steve shakes his head again and Billy chuckles.

“Where to, Harrington?” he asks.

“You’re the one who lured me out here with booze and pot,” Steve deadpans. “Are you really telling me you didn’t have a plan beyond that?”   
“Exactly,” Billy grins. “I provided the supplies. The least you can do is decide where we should go.”   
“Fine,” Steve rolls his eyes, pouting a little as he thinks. “Quarry?”

“Quarry it is.” Billy nods and pulls out onto the road, turning up the radio a bit as he drives out of Steve’s neighborhood.

Steve grabs a beer from the backseat and pops it open, taking a few swigs of it and settling back into his seat. Billy can see him tapping his foot to the beat of the song out of the corner of his eye and that makes him smile. He’s glad to see Steve relax a little again. He’d been so tense earlier with his mom, it was unsettling in a way Billy didn’t think he could ever feel around Steve. He remembers Steve mentioning that his parents weren’t around much as he was growing up, but he didn’t realize the extent to which that affected his relationship with them. He couldn’t help but wonder how Steve was with his father, if it was worse or better.

He wants to ask how the rest of Steve’s night was, wants to let Steve rant about it if he wants to, but he doesn't. He just keeps his eyes on the road as he steers it in the direction of the quarry.

-

They end up settled down by the water, skipping rocks and yelling way too loudly every time they manage to guess the correct number of skips. Empty beer cans are scattered across the rocks around them and they’re halfway through the joint Billy brought with him. Steve’s getting chattier, something Billy remembers from the last time they smoked together. He doesn’t mind so much, thinks he could listen to Steve ramble about pretty much anything.

“Alright, bet I can make this one skip four times.” Steve says, words slurring together a bit, as he holds up a smooth, perfectly rounded stone.

“Not a chance,” Billy shakes his head, smiling. “You’ll get two skips out of that one, at most.”

“Are you questioning this perfect rock’s abilities?” Steve sneers at him, offended.

“Nope,” Billy responds, popping the ‘p’ for emphasis. “I’m questioning  _ your _ drunken abilities.”

“I’m not drunk,” Steve scoffs, and then promptly falls over when he tries to squat down by the edge of the water. Billy cackles at that, full-bellied and way too loud, bending over to clutch his stomach.

“Jesus, Harrington, you’re a sloppy drunk.” He says, trying to catch his breath as Steve glares at him from where he’s lying on the ground, apparently having given up.

“Fuck off,” he flips him off, but makes no attempt to get up.

Billy takes that as his cue to sit down as well, taking a spot on the ground just a foot or so away from Steve and re-lighting the joint to take another drag.

“God,” Steve groans, rubbing his hands over his face. “I’m drunk.”

“No shit,” Billy laughs again, this time quieter. Steve finally sits up and pulls his knees up to his chest so he can rest his arms on them.

“I needed this,” he says a bit wistfully, staring out at the water. Billy smiles to himself again, feeling warmth spread from his chest up into his face.

“Dinner was that bad?” he ventures to ask, thinking now’s as good a time as any to broach the subject.

“Bullshit,” Steve sighs, closing his eyes and burying his face in his arms for a minute. “My parents are bullshit.”

“Yeah,” Billy nods. “I know how that is.”

“This is the closest to my actual birthday that my mom has acknowledged it since I was like...ten?” Steve says, voice bitter. “All this time I thought she was just busy on the actual day. I didn’t think she’d actually forgotten the date itself.”   
“Birthdays are shit, man,” Billy waves a hand dismissively in the air. He’s had his fair share of shitty birthdays. Like his thirteenth birthday, which came just five months after his mom passed away, and Neil brought Susan home for the first time. Apparently he thought a new mom was the best kind of birthday present he could give. Billy had thrown an actual fit, locking himself in his room for the rest of the night. That earned him a slap in the face and a long conversation with his father about respect.

“Tell me about it,” Steve responds, turning his head so he can see Billy again. Billy thinks he sees tears on Steve’s face, but he can’t be sure. 

“That cake Joyce made was good,” Billy offers, because he needs this conversation to turn positive again.

“Yeah,” Steve nods, finally smiling. “That was a really nice surprise.”

“You’ve got a good group of people to call friends,” Billy says, and he’s aware of the jealousy that lingers at the edge of his words. He gets the impression that Steve feels alone a lot, but he’s easily one of the least alone people Billy’s ever known.

“I do,” Steve agrees at length, letting out a heavy breath. “I probably take them for granted too much, but it’s true, they’re the closest thing I have to family. And they’re pretty damn great.” Billy meets Steve’s gaze again and offers half a smile, trying not to think about how much he wants that for himself. He’s never really had a real family, never so much as had friends who felt like what he imagines having a family should feel like. Max is the closest thing he has, and that’s still so new and fragile. He doesn’t know what it’s like to have people in his life who love him the way family’s supposed to.

“Alright, so now you know about my mess of a family,” Steve says suddenly, startling Billy out of his thoughts. “What about you?”

“What about me?” Billy raises an eyebrow, feeling defensive.

“I know I’m not the brightest tool in the shed,” Steve replies, frowning. “But I’m not a total idiot. I’ve seen the bruises, and you always get weird when your dad comes up. So…What’s up with that?”   
“I don’t…” Billy wants to say absolutely anything to shut this conversation down, but Steve’s still got tear tracks on his face and he’s not asking in that concerned way that most people do; he’s just genuinely curious, like he wants to know this about Billy because he actually wants to know more about him. “What do you want to know?”   
“Does he hit you?” Steve asks, and it’s so blunt that it shocks Billy a little. He’s never had someone outright ask it like that.

“Sometimes,” Billy shrugs, feeling incredibly exposed under Steve’s gaze. He looks down at his hands in his lap and fiddles uncomfortably with the joint between his fingers.

“That sucks,” Steve says. “My dad’s hit me a couple times. Nothing too crazy, just, y’know...smacked me when I was younger and talked back to him. He hasn’t done it in years but…I guess I kind of get it.” Billy is silent for several seconds, unsure of how to respond. Most people say they’re sorry when they find out, or get that look on their face like suddenly everything makes sense to them. No one’s ever just acknowledged that it sucks, let alone shown that they can empathize in any real way.

“Yeah,” Billy nods and looks back up to meet Steve’s eyes. It feels significant in some way. Like Billy’s let Steve past a barrier he keeps up to the outside world, and he’s terrified; but he also feels strangely hopeful. He knows that if anyone’s deserving of his trust, it’s Steve.

The conversation turns light again after a while, and they end up staying out at the quarry until sunrise. It works out in the end, because by the time Billy’s dropped Steve off and arrived back at his own house, it’s late enough that he can tell Neil he just went out for an early morning drive and he won’t suspect a thing.

He makes it into his room and sprawls out on his bed, exhausted all the way down to his bones but feeling lighter somehow. Being open with Steve felt good in a way he’s not sure he’s ever really felt. He drifts off to sleep thinking about warm smiles and soft, fluffy hair that he’d very much like to run his fingers through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who left comments over the past couple of days. I wish I could explain fully how happy each and every one of you have made me! I love especially hearing your feedback/thoughts on different aspects of the story. It motivates me a lot. ^_^
> 
> Not sure when the next update will be. I've fallen behind a bit, had some health related ick and then not as much free time this past week. But hopefully I can get ahead again over the weekend. We'll see. ;)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally time for an update!
> 
> Sorry it took a little longer to get this one out. But it's about 2k more than previous chapters, so hopefully that makes up for it a little? ;)
> 
> TW - There's some homophobic language in this chapter, toward the end.

The next couple of weeks bleed into each other as Steve gets caught up in school and finishing up late applications for a few universities that he’d been dragging his feet on. He’s received two more rejection letters, so the desperation to find _somewhere_ that will accept him is really starting to sink in. With each passing day he can feel himself circling closer to a reality of being stuck in Hawkins for the rest of his life. It’s difficult to believe that only a few months ago he had been married to the idea of doing just that.

He and Billy continue to meet up for lunch every day at school, sitting out by their cars and shooting the shit. Their level of comfort with each other growing with each passing day. Billy also starts joining him at the library to study and do homework. The first time they studied together it had been completely unplanned. It was early on a Saturday morning. Steve hadn’t been sleeping too well for the last week and last night was no exception, so he filled up on coffee at the diner and then headed over to the library to get some homework done. He found that working at the library helped him focus. If he tried to work at home he’d find literally anything else to do, even if it was just staring up at his ceiling fan like he was waiting for it to open up and swallow him whole.

So he headed to his usual table in the corner by the Non Fiction section, only to be stopped in his tracks by a hushed “Harrington” to his right. He turned to meet Billy’s gaze, eyebrows raised in confusion. Billy was sitting at a table with about five books sprawled out in front of him, notebook open with half a page full of what was probably the tidiest handwriting Steve had ever seen. He was chewing on the eraser of the pencil in his hand, looking way too serious for a Saturday morning.

“Didn’t know you could read, Hargrove,” Steve smirked, gripping the strap of his backpack a little tighter where it was slung over one shoulder. He felt a bit flustered for some reason that he didn’t really want to examine, so he chalked it up to just not having expected any human interaction.

“I think we’ve established that out of the two of us, I’m the one most likely to read an actual book without pictures in it.” Billy quipped, smirking back.

“Touche,” Steve chuckled at that, which seemed to morph Billy’s smirk into a small, genuine smile.

“Any chance you’ve still got to work on our assignment from Mr. Giles’ class?” Billy asked.

“Unfortunately,” Steve nodded, rolling his eyes. “I’ve put it off for as long as I could.”  
“Wanna work on it together?” Billy replied, already reaching out to clear a space for Steve at the table.

“Really?” Steve asked, and Billy nodded, smiling again. “That would be great, actually.” He took a seat across from him and pulled his own books out, stacking them neatly to the side.

It was almost two o’clock when they finally left that afternoon. Steve found that he really liked studying with Billy. There were times when they would fall into a companionable silence, each working on their own things, and nothing about it felt strained or uncomfortable. When they did talk, it was about inane things that helped ease the brain fog that always came from staring at the same textbook for too long. Billy was actually incredibly smart, and Steve liked the way he didn’t just tell Steve the answers to things, instead he would patiently and easily guide him in the right direction with follow-up questions to every question Steve asked. Even Nancy was never that patient with him.

So they’ve started meeting up after class every couple of days to go to the library and study for a couple of hours together. On days when they don’t go to the library, they take the nerds to the arcade and spend the whole time trying to beat each other’s score at Vanguard, because they’re both equally terrible at it.

Most of the kids are still a bit wary of Billy, but Steve can tell they’re starting to warm up to him. He’d been most surprised when Lucas was the first one of them to engage in an actual conversation with Billy, completely unprompted. Steve couldn’t really hear their conversation, but there was an easiness in their posture as they talked that showed there was little tension between them. Max was watching from a few feet away where she stood behind Dustin at the Dig Dug machine, and she caught Steve’s gaze briefly. He raised an eyebrow, glancing at the two boys before looking back to her, a silent question, and she just smiled, small and pleased, before turning her attention back to Dustin.

Eleven seems to warm up to Billy the most. Steve thinks it’s mostly because Billy shares his Cheetos with her, but there also seems to be a quiet camaraderie between them; like maybe they’ve both been through some shit and it’s given them a certain level of understanding that they don’t share with the others. Sometimes she’ll wander over from the other kids to watch Billy and Steve play, and Billy will hold his bag of Cheetos out in offering and they’ll whisper quietly back and forth while Steve tries to beat Billy’s high score.

Billy goads Steve into going to another party with him one weekend, despite Steve’s argument that he obviously can’t be trusted to behave at parties. So they go, and Steve only gets a little drunk playing beer pong, and he has a nice time, and Nancy and Jonathan aren’t there so he manages to stay out of trouble.

Nancy doesn’t try to speak to him anymore on Saturday nights at the Wheeler’s. She’s taken to avoiding him altogether at school, too. He wants to be able to say he’s relieved to not have her watching him with that worried look on her face anymore, but he’s not. The truth is that he still feels guilty about the things he’d said to her. There’s this nagging thought in the back of his head that tells him he’s being unfair, that everything that happened is his fault, that Nancy isn’t to blame for any of it. He _knows_ that it’s not true, but he’s having a difficult time believing it; and having Nancy completely avoid him isn’t helping.

So Steve throws himself into school and he doesn’t wait for Nancy to approach him at the Wheelers’ or at school, and he tries to ignore the anxiety that constantly buzzes beneath his skin. Spending time with Billy helps. When he’s with Billy, he doesn’t think about any of that. He’s able to get wrapped up in whatever inane conversation they’re having, and revels in the easy back and forth between them.

It was on a Thursday afternoon, three weeks after Steve’s birthday, that Billy invited Steve to come with him to Indianapolis the following Saturday.

“Neil usually takes Susan and Max to visit Susan’s mom every couple of weeks,” Billy explained when Steve just stared at him blankly after he’d blurted out the invitation. “They haven’t been able to go this month yet, and they’re busy this Saturday again, but they want Max to visit with her grandma. So...I get to be responsible for making sure that happens.”

“Oh…” Steve responded, still not sure how he factored in, and also trying to parse out why Billy looked so damn nervous about all of it.

“Anyway,” Billy cleared his throat. “The old bitch hates me, so I need to make myself scarce while Max visits. I figured, y’know, if you came along...I don’t know. Maybe we could find shit to do around town for a couple hours?”  
“I haven’t been to Indianapolis since I was like, ten…” Steve answered dumbly, then hurried to give a proper response. “I mean, uh, I’m not sure what we would do. But I’ll never turn down the chance to get out of Hawkins for a day.”   
“Yeah?” Billy looked relieved, smiling when Steve nodded. “Cool. We’ll probably head out around seven, so we could pick you up at like seven-fifteen?”   
“Sure,” Steve nodded again. “Do I need to bring anything?”   
“Nah,” Billy shrugged. “We should be back by evening. I told Max I’d get her home in time for D&D.”

“Right, yeah,” Steve replied. They discussed a few more details and then went back to their homework.

And that’s how Steve ended up here, sitting in the passenger seat of Billy’s Camaro, hair being blown every which way by the wind coming in through the rolled down windows, Black Sabbath blaring out of the speakers, speeding up 65 toward Indianapolis.

Max is in the backseat, singing along quietly to the song and reading a book she’d said was assigned reading for school.

“Y’know, I never would’ve pegged either of you guys for the bookworm type,” Steve says over the music. Max looks up at Billy, as if waiting for him to respond.

“Neil’s a real hard-ass when it comes to school,” Billy says, glancing from Max in the rearview mirror to Steve. “Everything’s a hell of a lot easier if we just suck it up and do the work.” Steve feels something heavy and ugly settle in his chest at that. He wonders if that means Neil likes to smack Max around, too, but he doesn’t ask. Steve looks back at Max. She looks surprised, but quickly recovers with a shrug and goes back to reading. It occurs to Steve that she might not know how much he knows about their home life. He’s still not really sure how much he actually knows about it himself. Billy had admitted weeks ago now that Neil hit him sometimes, but he never went into any detail, and he sure as hell never brought it up again.

“Alright, sure. But you can’t tell me Neil made you read enough Tolkien material to learn Eldarin.” Steve retorts, going for lighthearted, and Billy’s mouth turns up in a smirk at that.

“No, that was just a useful escape,” Billy says.

“Imagine that,” Max pipes up from the backseat. “All this time, Billy’s been the biggest nerd of us all.”  
“Fuck off,” Billy flips her the bird and she sticks her tongue out at him.

“It’s okay, man, your secret’s safe with me.” Steve teases.

“Gee, thanks, _Stephen_.” Billy responds, baring all of his teeth in an exaggeratedly sweet smile directed at Steve. Steve makes a face at him and Billy turns his attention back to the road, lips still upturned in an amused smile.

“You guys are weird.” Max says decidedly and Billy reaches over to the radio to turn it up a little more, effectively ending the conversation. The rest of the drive is pleasant enough, Max reading in the backseat, Billy smoking through nearly half a pack while he taps out the beat of the song on the steering wheel, and Steve just folds up his legs against the dashboard and closes his eyes. He’s no stranger to being up early, but it doesn’t make him any less tired. He honestly can’t remember the last time he had a solid night’s sleep.

The drive is just under two hours and they stop at a cafe in town to fuel up on coffee and pancakes before taking Max over to the nursing home. She doesn’t ask Billy if he wants to come in, just climbs out of the car, slings her backpack over her shoulder, and closes the back door before leaning against the driver’s side window.

“Two o’clock, yeah?” she asks.

“On the dot,” Billy nods. “I’ll be here.”

“Cool,” she nods once and then walks away, heading up the sidewalk to the old brick building that looks like a cross between a house and a hospital.

“Where to now?” Steve asks, watching her disappear behind the big, mahogany door.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Billy shrugs. “I’ve only been up here twice, and both times we just came here.”

“Okay,” Steve drags out the end of the word, racking his brain for ideas. He wasn’t lying when he said he hadn’t been to the city since he was ten and he barely remembers anything about it. His father has an office in Indianapolis, it’s where he spends half of his time during the week, and when Steve was younger his parents would sometimes bring him with them to the city on the weekends. He would’ve preferred being left at home with a nanny, but it made his father look more credible as a family man, to have his wife and son with him every once in a while.

The last time he went to the city, he remembers sitting in his father’s office for several hours before going to some restaurant with a bunch of his father’s coworkers. He spilled soup on one of them, and that earned him a stern talking to from his mother, who had barely paid him any mind during the whole trip. They didn’t take him on trips anymore after that.

Something of the memory must show on his face, because Billy is giving him a strange look when he glances over at him, something bordering on concern. Steve considers bringing it up, because apparently sometimes they share shit like that now. But he doesn’t, opting instead to throw out a few general ideas of what they can do for the day.

They end up deciding to park the car in a random spot downtown and wander around on foot, no particular destination in mind. Billy talks about San Diego some more as they walk. He tells Steve about a skyline three times as big as Indianapolis and eclipsed by mountains; about lazy summer afternoons spent at the boardwalk and on the beach. Steve’s never so much as seen the ocean or a mountain, and he’d never really thought about it much if he’s being honest; but listening to Billy talk about it, it makes him envious. He can’t really imagine experiencing all of the things Billy has seen, and he can’t help but want to experience them for himself.

They’ve been wandering around for a solid hour when they happen upon a group of teenagers playing basketball in the park, and Billy doesn’t really give Steve a choice when he invites both himself and Steve into the game. They make no protest, seemingly happy to welcome more players into their game.

The other guys actually provide a good challenge for Steve. He’s used to playing with the same guys since middle school, he knows all of their quirks and weaknesses like the back of his hand. But playing against strangers means he can’t rely on that intuition or knowledge. It puts his raw skill to the test, and he learns pretty quickly how much of it he’s actually lacking, but it’s not as embarrassing as he imagined it would be. The guys on his team seem pleased enough with his skill level, and none of the taunts from the other side really phase him compared to how Billy’s taunts when he first came to Hawkins had worked their way under his skin.

That seems like a world away now, even when Billy gets up in his space as he dribbles the ball, effectively pushing him back out of range of the basket, and asks him if that’s really the best he’s got. There’s no real malice to it, though. It’s familiar, playful even, and it doesn’t escape Steve’s attention how much more relaxed Billy is on this court. He doesn’t seem to be taking it as seriously as he does back home, like he’s genuinely just here to play a game and enjoy himself. Steve thinks it has to do with the fact that the other guys are total strangers. Billy has no real motivation to impress them or assert himself as their superior. He also isn’t afraid to treat Steve like an equal in front of them, all soft edges where they’re normally sharp in the presence of others. After all, they won’t know these guys from Adam after today.

As they sprawl out on the cool asphalt, exhausted from several hours of play, covered in sweat and trying to catch their breaths, Steve thinks about how much he likes this version of Billy. The Billy whose smile is easy, who’s not afraid to clap Steve on the shoulder to get his attention, who calls Steve his friend without a second thought. Getting out of Hawkins, even just a couple hours away, is a freedom that Steve’s been aching for ever since the fall, and he knows Billy feels just as suffocated by Hawkins as he does. For different reasons, but the feeling’s the same regardless, and something about getting out together just feels right.

He turns to look at Billy lying beside him, and Billy’s already watching him, hands rising and falling where they rest against his stomach as he breathes in and out. He looks away as soon as Steve’s eyes meet his, cheeks flushing pink as he stares up at the clear sky above them. The moment leaves a strange feeling under Steve’s skin. It reminds him of the way he felt the first time he looked at Nancy and realized that she was more than a distraction. With Nancy it had been new and exciting, it felt like what everyone meant when they talked about finding the love of your life. It had been so obvious what it was. It felt right, like he’d finally found someone to love him and he wasn’t going to be alone anymore.

But with Billy it’s something entirely different. It’s scary, and unfamiliar, and it’s tinged with a bitterness that he hadn’t learned yet with Nancy. It’s less about some imaginary fate or finding the love of his life per se, and more about how he doesn’t know what he would do if Billy wasn’t in his life. It’s about the way his heart stutters in his chest every time Billy smiles, whether Steve put that smile there or not, and how he’d do absolutely anything to keep that smile on Billy’s face. It’s about how he’s started to miss Billy when he’s not around, and how he wants Billy to be a part of his makeshift family. It’s about the uneasy feeling in his gut every time he thinks about graduating and watching Billy drive away from Hawkins, away from him, for good.

In the end it doesn’t really matter though, does it? Because guys don’t feel this way about other guys, and if he lets himself go down this road, it only ends the same way it ended with Nancy. Loving someone who can’t love him back seems to be Steve’s special talent.

He lets himself watch Billy for just a moment more, the feeling settling in his chest as he admires the curl of Billy’s hair around his face, and the indent in his cheek from where he’s chewing on the inside of it, because he does that when he doesn’t have anything else to fidget with. Steve lets out a silent breath and turns away, forcing the feeling down to that place where he forces all the things he wants but can’t have.

-

It’s nearly one o’clock by the time they leave the park, which gives them just enough time to make it back to the car and pick up Max at two. Steve’s unusually quiet the whole way back to the car, but Billy chalks it up to exhaustion from the game. The guys on the court had given them a fair challenge, which was a welcome change from the easy competition of Hawkins High. He was impressed with how well Steve kept up, too. It’s true that Steve is one of the better players in PE, and that’s not saying a whole lot, but he’s quick on his feet and he adapts well. Billy’s always enjoyed playing against Steve, even from the very beginning. He likes getting Steve riled up, likes the way his cheeks burn red with exertion, and his tongue pops out the side of his mouth when he’s concentrating really hard. He’s a competitive fucker and he’s not easily impressed, and it makes Billy push himself just that much harder.

Max is sitting on a bench outside when they get there, still reading that same book, and Billy honks a couple times to get her attention.

“Jesus,” she jumps at the sound, closing the book in her lap and looking up. “People are dying in there, have some respect.”

“You hungry?” he asks in lieu of a proper response, watching as she climbs into the backseat and buckles up.

“No,” Max shakes her head. “I ate lunch with Grandma.”

“How about you?” Billy glances at Steve, whose stomach grumbles as if on cue; Billy smirks at that. “I think I saw a deli near the highway on the way into town. Sound good?”  
“I’d eat a horse if you offered it to me,” Steve answers, and turns to look at Max as Billy pulls out onto the street. “How’s your Grandma?”   
“Batty and mean,” Max shrugs. “But good. She spent most of the time calling me Carol and sharing way too much about her sex life.”

“Jesus…” Billy says under his breath, feeling his cheeks flush. The last thing he wants to think about is an old lady having sex.

“I think Carol was her best friend in college,” Max continues. “At least I hope she was, cause otherwise Grandma had a lot of extramarital affairs.”

“So Grandma Mayfield was a slut?” Billy smirks.

“There’s nothing wrong with enjoying sex,” Steve says, glaring at him, and Billy raises his hands up off the wheel for a second in mock surrender. Who would’ve thought that Steve Harrington of all people was a crusader for loose women’s rights?

“I really don’t want to talk about this,” Max interjects. “I already know way more than I ever wanted to.”  
“Ditto,” Billy says, turning up the radio and placing the cigarette from behind his ear between his lips so he can light it.

“C’mon, man, you’re driving,” Steve scolds, grabbing the cigarette from between his lips and pulling the lighter out of the breast pocket of Billy’s shirt. He puts the cigarette between his own lips and holds the flame up to the end, puffing a few times to get it lit. He takes a drag, holding it in as he hands the cigarette back to Billy, and then lets it out again, settling back into his seat. Billy tries not to fixate on how familiar the whole thing feels, like he’s done it a million times or something. He just sucks down as much smoke as he can and keeps his eyes fixed on the road, fingers drumming against the steering wheel.

-

They get back to Hawkins around six o’clock and Max convinces Billy to swing by the house before he takes her over to the Wheeler’s for D&D. He’s reluctant at first, because Steve’s still with them and he really doesn’t like the idea of Steve being at their house. The possibility of Neil being there or showing up makes anxiety curl around his guts and squeeze until it’s difficult to focus on the road.

When they pull up Billy is only mildly relieved to see that Neil’s truck is missing from the driveway, but he agrees to go in and scrounge up some dinner for the three of them anyway. If Neil and Susan come home at this point, at least they can see him being responsible enough to make Max dinner. Maybe it will be enough to keep his father from thinking too hard about what Steve being around means. Not that it means _anything_ , they really are just friends, but Neil’s never been the type to believe Billy even when he is telling the truth.

He rifles through the freezer for something to heat up, settling on bagel bites and a bag of frozen broccoli that was buried at the back. It’s not the most nutritious thing he could make, but it’s quick enough and broccoli’s just about the only vegetable Max will eat without Neil watching her from the other side of the table. Steve comes back from taking a piss and leans against the counter across from the oven, where Billy is dumping out all of the broccoli and placing it around the bagel bites like it matters somehow how they’re arranged.

“This isn’t quite the shithole I imagine every time you talk about it,” Steve says, watching Billy.

“Yeah, well, it’s a lot more charming when it’s missing a few people,” Billy responds, and he knows it comes out a little harsher than he means it to, but Steve doesn’t seem bothered when he glances back at him.

“What’s for dinner?” Steve asks, and Billy’s grateful for the change in subject.

“Bagel bites and frozen broccoli.” Billy answers, picking up the tray and turning around to present it with a little flourish.

“Whoa, Hargrove, now that’s some serious, gourmet shit,” Steve grins. “I don’t know if my palate can handle that kind of sophisticated cuisine.” Billy just rolls his eyes, flipping him off with his free hand, and shoves the tray into the oven. He grabs the little apple-shaped timer from on top of the stove and sets it for fifteen minutes, turning back around to face Steve and leaning against the oven. Steve’s playing with a clip he must’ve found lying on the counter, arms crossed over his chest. One of the first things Billy ever noticed about Steve was the way he often stood with his arms crossed over his chest, a stance that screamed insecurity and put a target on his back from day one. He doesn’t see Steve do it nearly as often anymore, usually just when he’s tense, so he wonders what’s got him wound tight now.

“You going to D&D tonight?” Billy asks, because he realizes that they never talked about how Steve would be getting home later.

“Yeah, I skipped last week, so Dustin’ll murder me if I don’t go tonight,” Steve says, closing the clip around his index finger. “You could drop me off at my house, though, so I can pick up my car. If that works for you?”

“Sure,” Billy nods, watching the motion of Steve’s hands. Steve opens the clip again and examines the little indents left behind on his skin. He doesn’t meet Billy’s eyes at all, and that leaves an uncomfortable feeling in Billy’s chest.

“Do I smell bagel bites?” Max breaks the silence, walking into the room and plopping down at the kitchen table. Before Billy can answer the sound of car doors slamming shut interrupts him, followed shortly by the front door opening. Billy’s mouth goes dry immediately, nearly forgotten anxiety clutching at his chest again, and his fingers tingle where they’re starting to go numb.

“Billy? Max?” Susan’s voice travels down the hallway and then she’s popping her head around the corner.

“Hey, mom,” Max waves from her place at the table and Susan smiles, walking over to the kitchen table to kiss the top of her daughter’s head.

“How was Grandma?” she responds, running a hand through Max’s hair.

“Good,” Max smiles back. “She missed you.”  
“I hope you told her how sorry I was to not be there?” Susan asks.

“Of course,” Max nods, and Susan squeezes her shoulder once before looking over at Billy, eyes flitting from him to Steve.

“Who’s this?” she smiles again, but there’s an edge to it that Billy’s not sure how to interpret.

“Susan, this is our friend, Steve,” Billy answers, gesturing between the two. “Steve, this is Susan.”  
“Hi Steve,” Susan steps closer and holds a hand out to him.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Steve smiles, shaking her hand.

“You’re one of Billy’s classmates?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Steve nods.

“You remember my friend Dustin, right mom?” Max interjects and Susan glances back at her, nodding. “Steve’s basically his older brother.”

“Oh, how nice,” she smiles again, nodding at Steve in understanding. “I’m sure Mrs. Henderson is grateful to have a male figure in her son’s life.” Billy tries not to laugh as Steve openly flounders at that, but all of the amusement leaves him instantly when Neil steps into the room.

“Billy,” his tone is firm and serious, commanding the attention of everyone in the room. Billy knows that tone, it’s a prelude to a fight that starts with his father’s disappointment and ends with a new bruise on Billy’s skin. He doesn’t finish whatever he was about to say, though, because his eyes land on Steve, who’s staring back at him like a deer in headlights, and Neil’s never liked to have an audience.

“Steve Harrington, right?” Neil says, demeanor shifting immediately into something reminiscent of friendliness. “I believe we met at church?”

“Yes, that’s me,” Steve nods, holding a hand out. Neil shakes it and smiles, upper lip lifting to bear his teeth just slightly.

“I didn’t realize you were friends with Billy,” Neil says, and the way he says it makes Billy’s skin crawl. “Are you staying for dinner?”  
“No, uh, I have other plans tonight.” Steve shakes his head.

“Steve came with us to Indianapolis,” Max supplies, to which Susan smiles and pats her on the shoulder once more before excusing herself from the kitchen. Billy wishes he could rip his own skin off. He thinks it would be a relief as Neil glances back at him, a look in his eye that tells Billy he _knows_.

“Oh, that’s nice.” Neil tears his eyes away from Billy to look at Max, forcing another smile. “And how is your Grandmother?”

“She’s good,” Max answers. “She sends her best wishes.” The timer sounds off in that moment and Billy nearly jumps, hurriedly stopping it and busying himself with turning off the oven and pulling the tray out.

“What the hell is that?” Neil raises an eyebrow, looking down at the tray in Billy’s hand.

“Dinner?” Billy answers, trying to swallow down the lump in his throat.

“Really?” Neil’s jaw clenches and Billy knows that he’s fighting to keep an even cadence because Steve is standing right there, watching. “Bagel bites and broccoli? You call that a balanced meal?”  
“It’s all we had that was quick,” Billy says. “I didn’t want Max to be late for her game night, since curfew’s in just a couple hours.”   
“You know why curfew is early on Saturdays, Billy,” Neil responds, fixing him with a stern look.

“Because of church on Sundays,” Billy nods quickly. “I do know, sir.”

“Don’t talk back to me,” Neil says, and Billy has to bite his tongue to keep from protesting. He doesn’t make a habit of arguing with his father often, but sometimes it’s just too ridiculous not to defend himself. This would be one of those times, but Steve is there and he can tell that Neil is already pissed about that, and he knows better than to add any more fuel to the fire that’s bound to blow up in his face as soon as he gets home later tonight.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Billy says instead.

“Apology accepted,” Neil replies, nodding once. “Now, feed your sister and make sure she’s not late to her friend’s house. Steve, it’s nice to see you again.” Steve just smiles, obviously forced, when Neil looks at him again, and Neil smiles back before looking back at Billy expectantly.

“Yes, sir,” Billy nods once more. Neil just purses his lips, unimpressed but satisfied, and leaves the room. Billy would normally let out a breath to try and ease the tension in his body, but Steve’s watching him and he feels exposed in a way he hasn’t felt in a really long time. He knows that Steve is aware, at least somewhat, of the situation with his father, but there’s a big difference between admitting that Neil hits him sometimes and having Steve actually witness his father’s control over him.

He tries to shake it off, refusing to meet Steve’s eyes as he makes his way over to the cabinet next to Steve’s head and pulls down a couple of plates. He can see Steve make an aborted motion out of the corner of his eye, like he’s about to reach out and then thinks better of it when Billy tenses even more.

He walks over to the table and divides the contents of the tray onto three plates, then sets it aside and takes a seat next to Max.

“Dig in, kiddo,” he says, voice shaking minutely.

“Thanks, Billy,” Max offers him half a smile and digs into her food. Steve finally makes his way over to the table and sits down on the other side of Max. Billy can feel Steve watching him, but then Max taps his elbow and shakes her head, because they’ve done this enough times for her to know how this goes; and Steve must get the message, because he turns his attention to his own plate and says nothing. And Billy’s grateful for that. He doesn’t need them to offer pity or say anything nice. He just needs to carry on like everything’s the same. Because in reality, it is. Everything is exactly the same as it always has been.

-

“Are you going to be okay?” Steve asks as Billy pulls up outside his house. They’d dropped off Max at the Wheeler’s already, so it’s just the two of them now. He’d debated even asking the question, because it’s obvious Billy’s trying to avoid the conversation altogether, but he really just needs to know. Ever since Billy showed up in Hawkins he’d been all raw bravado, commanding the attention and respect of everyone he came into contact with. And it’s true that Steve is learning a side of him that’s much softer than all that, but he’s never witnessed Billy like _that_. Vulnerable, and afraid, and holding himself like he was trying to become as small as possible. He knew Neil liked to hit Billy, he didn’t realize it was a hell of a lot more than that.

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Billy snaps, and it feels like a warning, one Steve would normally heed.

“Listen,” Steve can see the cracks in Billy, thinks he’s just one second away from crumbling, and he’s not interested in turning a blind eye to it. “I know it’s none of my business, but that shit with your dad? You shouldn’t have to deal with that.”

“What choice do I have, exactly?” Billy responds, still refusing to look at Steve, eyes fixed at some spot outside of the car.

“You could come stay with me,” Steve suggests, realizing only after he’s said it that given his developing feelings, it may not be the smartest thing. But he can’t just let Billy go back to that, so he doesn’t take it back, resolves instead to make it work if Billy accepts.

“No,” Billy says it so harshly, so definitively, that it feels a bit like a slap to the face.

“Why not?” Steve presses, despite the iron vice around his heart.

“Because I don’t want to,” Billy answers, knuckles turning white from where he’s gripping the steering wheel too hard. “I can handle my old man, Harrington. Whatever you think you saw today, it’s not like that.” Billy’s angry now, and Steve knows him well enough now to know that it’s a defense mechanism, and that it means this conversation is over.

“Okay,” Steve nods, reaching for the door handle and pulling to open it. “I better go.” Billy doesn’t answer, just presses his lips into a tight line and keeps staring at the road ahead of him.

“I’ll see you on Monday?” Steve tries, and Billy gives the smallest of nods. It hurts, to see Billy shut him out like this, but he doesn’t know why he expects anything less. He closes the car door, refraining from slamming it the way he wants to, and steps back just in time for Billy to rev the engine and speed off down the road, tires squealing a bit from the friction.

There’s a pit the size of a pool in his stomach as he watches Billy’s brake lights disappear through the trees, and he wishes he could have handled that better. For the first time since meeting Billy, he’s actually scared for the other boy. There’s a part of him that feels guilty about it, because Billy’s dad didn’t just start hitting him yesterday, and Steve doesn’t know when it started exactly; but he knows that every time they’ve hung out, Billy’s gone home to that, and he had no fucking clue this whole time. There’s nothing he can do though, is there? All he can do is carry on like he always has, and hope to god it’s not as bad as he thinks it probably is.

-

Billy gets home with Max in tow at exactly 8:57 p.m., and Neil is waiting for him in the living room when they walk through the front door. Susan is nowhere to be seen.

“Maxine,” Neil acknowledges her first. “I hope you had fun with your friends?”

“Yes, sir,” Max nods, glancing from Billy to Neil.

“Good,” Neil smiles. “I need to speak to your brother, so head on to bed.”

“Yes, sir,” Max nods again and gives Billy one more look of concern before heading back to her room and closing the door.

“Dad…” Billy starts but Neil shakes his head once to stop him. He’s sitting in his recliner in the corner, hands steepled over his lap and elbows resting on the arms.

“I don’t appreciate being talked back to, Billy,” he says. “Especially in front of other people.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Billy answers, shrinking into himself a bit.

“How long have you been friends with Steve?” Neil moves on quickly.

“He’s just a classmate,” Billy says quickly.

“What does that mean?” Neil raises an eyebrow. “ _Just_ a classmate?”

“Nothing, I just…” Billy knows he’s lost already. Neil’s caught him, and this isn’t going to end well.

“I swear to god, Billy,” Neil says, getting up from his seat. “If this Steve kid is another _faggot_ …” That sets something off in Billy. He’s spent years taking his father’s anger, dealing with being berated for the _smallest_ things, being called a faggot and a queer, and nursing the bruises both physical and emotional that those words have left him with; but he’s not about to listen to him do the same thing to Steve. He doesn’t care if Steve’s not there to hear it. It’s one thing for Neil to call Billy a fag, because at least it’s true about him, but it’s not true about Steve, and he doesn’t deserve that.

So when his dad gets up in his space, Billy doesn’t back down this time, doesn’t drop his arms and wait for the first hit. He squares his shoulders, standing a little taller to match his height, and looks his father dead in the eyes.

“Fuck you.” He says, and braces himself for a fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter! I know I left it on a bit of a cliffhanger there, but I'm not sorry.
> 
> It took several different forms from my original idea for it, but I'm pretty pleased with it myself.  
> I didn't realize when I first came up with the idea of them going to Indianapolis together that there's literally nothing to do in Indianapolis? I've only ever been once and I was like...six? So, yeah. It didn't help that apparently the few things that do sound interesting either didn't exist yet or were still being built in the 80's.
> 
> As always, let me know what you think! Your comments and kudos are my fuel. ^_^


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ﾉ´ｰ`)ﾉ
> 
> Here we go...

The phone rings at exactly 10:13 p.m., pulling Steve out of his already fitful sleep. He doesn’t normally go to bed this early, but he was exhausted from the day and several weeks of poor sleep, so he’d laid down as soon as he got home from the Wheeler’s and passed out. He seriously considers just letting the phone ring until whoever’s on the other end gives up, but then a whole myriad of emergency scenarios play out in his head at once and he’s reaching across the bed to where the phone sits on his nightstand.

“This better be a real emergency or I swear to go-” he starts, rolling back over to lie on his back.

“Steve?” Max is the last person he expected to be calling at this hour, but it’s definitely her on the other end of the line, voice bordering on panicked.

“Max, hey, yeah…” he sits up immediately, lump growing in his throat. “What’s going on?”

“Is Billy there?” she asks.

“Uh, no?” He replies, ice crawling up his spine as he recalls their last interaction earlier that night; Billy had been so fucking angry when he drove away. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” she answers. “It’s Neil...Billy’s dad. They’re taking him to the hospital, but Billy’s gone missing.”

“Shit.” Steve's heart is hammering in his chest now. _What the hell did he do?_ “Okay, okay. I’ll go look for him.”

“Thanks, Steve,” she replies, and she sounds so scared that it makes in Steve’s chest ache.

“No problem,” he says, reaching over to turn on the lamp, but then he stops and holds the phone a little tighter to his ear. “Max?”

“Yeah?” She answers.

“Is Neil going to be okay?” he asks, and the question is met with several beats of silence. His mind is racing with the memory of Billy beating him up in the Byers’ living room, of how intense Billy’s anger had been, and how close he had come to doing some real damage. He wants to believe that Billy has become a better person since then, that he would never do that kind of harm to another person again. But he’s not stupid. He knows the tension he felt between Billy and his dad that afternoon was beyond just annoyance or irritation. He knows a boiling pot when he sees one, and he thinks Billy’s been on the verge of boiling over for a very long time.

“I don’t know,” she finally says, and his stomach turns. “I’ll be at the house, if you find him.”

“Okay,” he nods into the phone. “I’ll call you first thing.” He hangs up, climbing out of bed as quickly as his limbs will allow, and throws on the first things he can find lying around his room. He’s halfway out the door when it dawns on him that he should call Hopper. The Chief of Police would know what to do in this situation, right? Hell, Hopper’s probably already on the scene.

He calls Hopper’s house anyway, just in case. It rings for over a minute and Steve’s just about to hang up when the line finally clicks to life.

“Listen, it’s after ten and I’m off duty, so this better be important-” Hopper answers and Steve doesn’t know if he should feel relieved or more nervous.

“Why aren’t you at the Hargroves, or the hospital, or-” Steve realizes belatedly that he’s actually yelling into the receiver, but he doesn’t really care.

“Whoa, hey, calm down,” Hopper cuts him off, tone placating and hushed. “Steve? What’s going on?”

“I don’t know, Max called, she said Neil Hargrove’s headed to the hospital and Billy’s gone missing…” Steve rushes out, feeling like he can’t breathe suddenly. “I have to go find him, I don’t-”

“Hey, hey!” Hopper barks from the other end. “Steve, just breathe for a minute, pal, okay?” Steve nods, gasping, and then realizes that Hopper can’t see him nodding.

“Breathe in,” Hopper says, voice quieter again. “Breathe out. Remember that thing Will taught you?”

“Yeah,” Steve says on a breath out, then inhales again, counting down four seconds and holding for six.

“I don’t know, El, give me a minute,” he hears Hopper’s muffled voice say a second later. “Steve?”

“Yeah,” Steve nods again. “Yeah, okay. I’m okay.”

“Good,” Hopper sighs. “Okay, now explain to me what’s going on.”

“I don’t really know what’s going on,” Steve answers, calmer now. “Max called and said that Billy’s dad was headed to the hospital and that Billy had gone missing. She asked me to find him.”

“Did she say why Neil is headed to the hospital?” Hopper asks.

“No,” Steve shakes his head. “No, but I mean...Billy’s missing.” He doesn’t have the guts to actually say what he’s thinking. He’s met with a long silence, followed by a deep sigh when Hopper finally gets what he’s trying to say.

“I haven’t had a call from the station at all,” Hopper says slowly. “So, let’s not jump to conclusions.” Steve knows that he should feel relieved by this, but he doesn’t. Despite getting control of his breathing, his heart is still hammering in is chest and he feels like he could buzz right out of his skin.

“Where are you thinking of looking first?” Hopper asks.

“I don’t know,” Steve answers honestly. “Knowing Billy, he’s probably out driving around. He could be anywhere.”

“Okay,” Hopper sighs again. “I’ll come help you look. You don’t have a radio, do you?”

“No,” Steve shakes his head.

“Okay, I’ll bring an extra one for you.” Hopper says. “Just stay put until I get there.”

“Hop…” Steve starts to argue.

“It’s not going to do any good for you to run off, too, Steve.” Hopper cuts him off. “You said yourself he could be anywhere, so we need to do this as smart as we can. Stay put.”

“Okay,” Steve picks up the base of the phone and holds it in his hand as he slides down to sit on the floor with his back against the wall.

“Alright, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Hopper promises and hangs up before Steve gets a chance to answer. Steve puts the receiver back on the base and sets the phone down beside him, letting his head fall into his hands and trying to remember to breathe.

The last thing he wants to do is sit here and wait, but Hopper was right. It’s not going to help if he just goes running around town aimlessly. So he cradles his head between his knees and does his best to keep breathing.

-

The knock on the door thirty minutes later startles him, but he jumps up immediately and runs to open it. Hopper, Joyce, and Jonathan are all standing on the other side of it, looking as tired as he feels, and concerned.

“Jesus,” he mumbles out. “Hop, you didn’t have to wake up the whole town.”

“They wanted to help,” Hopper shrugs and steps past him into the house. Joyce follows, but she stops next to Steve and opens her arms up in a silent offering. Steve hesitates, because he’s not used to this, but he could definitely use some comfort right now. So he feels himself deflate and steps into her arms, wrapping his own arms around her shoulders.

“We’re going to find him, Steve.” She whispers, stroking his hair in that way people do when they’re trying to comfort you. It works, if only a little. Steve feels calmer as he focuses on his breathing and tells himself not to start crying.

“I dropped El off at the Hargroves, to keep Max company.” Hopper says.

“Okay,” Steve nods, pulling away from Joyce. “Did Max say what happened?”

“Not really,” Hopper shakes his head. “She said there was a fight when they got home, but she wasn’t sure of the details. Just knew that Billy called an ambulance for Neil and then bolted. Mrs. Hargrove’s at the hospital with him, but she hasn’t called Max with any updates.”

“Fuck…” Steve feels his breath quicken again, and Joyce reaches out to grab his arm, squeezing just enough to help ground him. He’s so fucking grateful for her right now, grateful to Hopper for thinking to call her. He doesn't know how he would do this without her calm reassurance.

“Let’s not jump to any conclusions, okay?” Joyce says quietly, smile small but hopeful. “Let’s just focus on finding Billy, and we’ll deal with the rest as it comes.”

“Speaking of which, we really shouldn’t waste any more time.” Hopper says. “I’ve got four radios, so we can split up the town into quarters. He took his car, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find him if we stick to the road.”

“And even if he ditched the car, we’re bound to see it somewhere,” Jonathan adds, still standing in the open doorway. Steve swallows hard at that, memories of the bruises on Billy’s side spring to life behind his eyes, and he thinks about Max saying there had been a fight. Who knows how many punches Neil got in before Billy did whatever he did to send him to the hospital. He doesn’t want to think about Billy wandering through the woods somewhere, bloody and bruised and terrified out of his mind.

“Are there any places you think we should check first?” Hopper asks.

“I don’t know, I mean…” Steve shrugs, feeling defeated already and they haven’t even begun to search. “He doesn’t really have like a place that he goes, and even if he did...He’s too smart to go there first if he’s trying not to be found.”

“Fair enough,” Hopper nods. “But in the off-chance he isn’t necessarily hiding…”

“No,” Steve shakes his head. “He’s hiding.”

“How do you know that?” Joyce asks.

“I don’t…” Steve pauses. “I just...have a feeling.” He doesn’t want to say that he thinks Billy’s hiding because he didn’t come here. If Billy wanted to be found, he would have been in the first place Max thought to look: with Steve. But he feels weird admitting that to them, so he doesn’t say it.

“Okay,” Joyce nods and squeezes his arm a little tighter before letting go.

“Let’s go then,” Hopper says, heading for the door. Everyone follows him out to his truck, Steve taking a second to lock up the house real quick. Hopper pulls a map out of the glove box and opens it up on the hood of the truck, drawing a line with his finger.

“We’ll divide the town into quarters where Seventh and Broadway meet,” he explains. “Joyce, you take the Southeast quarter. Jonathan, the Northeast. Steve, you’ve got the Southwest, and I’ll take the northwest.”

“Got it,” Steve answers, heading to his car.

“Wait,” Hopper calls to him and he turns around just in time to catch the radio being thrown at him. “If anyone finds him, or any sign of him, let us know. Otherwise let’s plan on meeting back at the Hargroves at midnight.” Everyone nods in understanding and Steve hurries to his car. He’s anxious to get on the road and start looking. The longer they wait, the further away Billy could be.

He makes his way across town to Broadway and Seventh, figuring he should be as methodical as possible about it, because he really doesn’t have a clue where to look first and he needs something solid to focus on before he starts to panic again.

-

Billy’s not sure how long he’s been driving, but he thinks it must be an hour at least as he passes a sign that tells him Indianapolis is only thirty-two miles away. He hadn’t intended to go anywhere in particular when he left the house, the distant sound of sirens propelling him to speed off down the road and not look back. But Indianapolis is at least a little familiar, and it sure as hell isn’t Hawkins, so he doesn’t turn around.

No matter how loud he blasts the music and tries to focus on the road ahead of him, he can’t get the image of his father’s prone body on the living room floor out of his head. Can’t do anything to quiet the chorus of “You went too far this time” that plays over and over again in his mind. He doesn’t even remember what he did, exactly. Just knows that one minute Neil was calling Steve a faggot and all he could see was red, getting up in his father’s face and telling him to go fuck himself; and the next Neil was clutching his arms, left side of his face slack as if the muscles had just stopped working, and then Billy forced him away and he fell face-down onto the floor, unmoving. He remembers moving to check for a pulse, even as the bile rose in his throat, and then running to the phone to call 911.

Neil was breathing when he left, pulse still beating beneath his fingertips. He couldn’t remember what he’d done, but whatever was happening to his father, he knew it was his fault and he couldn’t stay there.

He’s spent most of his life hating his father, wishing he would just drop dead so he could finally be free, but it’s one thing to wish it and another entirely to see that reality finally come to within his reach. His father is an ass, by every definition of the word, and he knows that all of their lives would be so much easier without him; but he’s still the man who raised him, who gave him life, who took care of him even after his mom died and Billy gave him every reason under the sun to kick him out on the street.

Billy’s a fuck up, he knows that. He’s been a fuck up for as long as he can remember, and he knows he’ll always be a disappointment. He’ll never deserve all the opportunities and things his father has given him, and he proved that tonight.

And for what exactly? He’s spent years enduring his father’s abuse, believing all the shit he’s said to and about him, and he barely ever batted an eye. But the man throws one measly insult at Steve fucking Harrington, who wasn’t even there to hear it, and he completely loses it. This is exactly the kind of bullshit his father has tried to beat out of him again and again, and he thought he’d shut off this part of himself years ago. But then Steve Harrington showed up, and made a place for himself in Billy's life and his heart, and he just never fucking learns, does he?

He finds a shitty motel a few miles outside of Indianapolis and forks over most of his cash for a room. He’ll have to figure out how to make a few extra bucks tomorrow, but he can’t think about that right now. He walks into the room empty-handed and goes immediately to the shower, turning it on and stripping out of his clothes. He steps under the spray of hot water, turning it just hot enough to where it leaves his skin angry and red.

There are tears at the corners of his eyes, and nausea sitting heavy in his stomach, but he doesn’t cry and he doesn’t vomit. He just stands there, staring at the grungy tile in front of him and feeling the water burn his skin, and he focuses every ounce of energy he has on not completely falling apart.

-

Steve’s radio has remained silent for the last hour. He hasn’t found any sign of Billy, either. He’s searched his entire quarter and even ventured outside of town a bit. But now it’s almost midnight and Hopper said to meet back up at the Hargrove’s then, so he heads that way. It’s the last thing he wants to do, to go sit in a house and talk about finding Billy instead of continuing to search for him, but he doesn’t really have any better alternative.

When he pulls up to the Hargroves everyone else is already there. The front door is sitting open, screen door keeping out the bugs while letting in the cool night air. They’re all sat around the living room, El and Max squished together on the lazy-boy in the corner while Hopper stands next to the couch where Joyce is sat. There’s some noise in the kitchen, and Jonathan comes out a minute later with a pot full of coffee and several mugs in hand.

Max looks up at Steve, hope in her eyes, but he just shakes his head and leans back against the wall near the door. He can’t sit right now, nerves still wreaking havoc on his insides and making him feel like everything’s just a bit too much.

“Mom called,” Max says, still looking at Steve. “Neil had a stroke.”

“A stroke?” Steve’s eyes go wide at that. “Billy gave him a stroke?”

“Strokes don’t work like that, Steve,” Hopper interjects.

“Billy barely touched him,” Max adds, tone a bit defensive.

“You mean, it wasn't his fault?” Steve asks.

“No,” Hopper shakes his head. “It wasn’t his fault.” Steve lets out a heavy sigh at that, relief washing over him. Billy’s still missing, but at least he won’t come home to assault charges or anything like that.

“We have to find Billy,” Steve says. “He needs to know, so he can come home.”

“We’ve looked everywhere,” Hopper responds. “Where exactly are we supposed to look now?”

“I don’t know…” Steve trails off.

“I can find him.” Eleven pipes up, eyes big and round and far too serious. Max perks up beside her, expression hopeful again.

“No, El,” Hopper shakes his head and Steve is overcome with the urge to strangle him.

“I can find him.” She repeats herself decidedly and climbs out of the chair to go to Max’s room. She comes back a second later with a scarf and crouches down in front of the TV.

Max joins her on the floor, flipping on the TV and searching for a blank channel. Eleven ties the scarf over her eyes and places her hands in her lap, lips pressed tightly together in concentration. Steve watches as blood trickles out of one nostril, wishing he could see whatever it is she’s seeing as her lips purse together in frustration. It’s a solid minute before she finally reaches up to remove the scarf, and she meets Steve’s gaze first.

“Not ready,” she says.

“What?” Steve asks, glancing at Max beside her, who looks equally confused. “What’s that mean?”

“He’s safe,” she says. “But not ready.”

“Ready for what?” Steve feels irritation catch in his chest. “He needs to come home. He needs to know this wasn’t his fault.”

“Not yet.” Eleven shakes her head decidedly.

“ _Where_ is he, Eleven?” Steve pushes off the wall and Hopper moves to stand between the two of them. Eleven glances up at Hopper, shaking her head minutely, and then looks back at Steve.

“He’s safe.” She repeats with finality. Steve knows there’s nothing he can do to convince her otherwise at this point. Max must know, too, because she doesn’t argue either, just whispers something in Eleven’s ear and squeezes her shoulder. Steve sighs in frustration, scrubbing a hand over his face, and sinks back against the wall.

None of this feels fair. Billy’s out there somewhere, alone and probably blaming himself for what happened to Neil, and all Steve wants is to find him; to tell him that it’s going to be okay, that none of this was his fault, and that he can come home. He doesn’t understand why Eleven won’t tell him where Billy is so he can do that, and he doesn’t understand why everyone’s watching him with so much concern in their eyes.

It feels like everyone here is so concerned about him, but is he the only one concerned about Billy? It’s an unfair thought. He knows they wouldn’t be here if they didn’t care about Billy to some degree, and Max, too. There’s no way they care about Steve enough to do all of this for him alone. But it sure feels like he’s the only one worried about Billy right now. Eleven doesn’t even look sorry about it, and Steve really can’t understand that. He thought she’d grown to like Billy, at least a little bit. Maybe she really did just like him for his surplus of Cheetos after all.

They end up staying with Max until Mrs. Hargrove comes home, and Hopper offers to let Max stay with them so Mrs. Hargrove doesn’t have to worry about her when she goes back to the hospital. Neil’s stroke had apparently been severe enough to require surgery and he’ll be in the hospital for at least a few days.

“I don’t want to go,” Max says. “What if Billy comes home? Someone should be here.”

“I’ll stay,” Steve offers before he really has a chance to think about what he’s saying.

“Steve…” Hopper says, tone careful.

“No,” Steve glares up at Hopper. “Max is right, someone should be here. I can stay with her, I’ve stayed with Dustin before when Mrs. Henderson goes out of town.”

“Oh, you don’t have to…” Mrs. Hargrove interrupts, looking a little embarrassed.

“Please, Mrs. Hargrove,” Steve looks at her, forcing out a small smile. “You can call Mrs. Henderson for a reference. Let me help.”

“He’s an excellent babysitter, Susan,” Joyce says from the couch. “Seriously, he watches Will all the time. I wouldn’t trust anyone else more.” That’s a lie, because Joyce has barely let Will out of her sight since the Fall, but Steve’s not going to point that out.

“Okay,” Mrs. Hargrove nods after a moment of consideration. “Thank you, Steve. That’s really helpful.”

“Of course,” Steve smiles again, grateful to Joyce not for the first time tonight.

“We better get going,” Hopper says from where he’s stood near the front door. “El, come on.” Eleven hesitates, but she turns to Max at length and gives her a hug before joining Hopper at the door.

“Thank you again, for coming over. I really appreciate you looking out for Max.” Mrs. Hargrove says to the room, smiling.

“Any time,” Joyce smiles back, pulling on her coat and heading toward the door. “Let us know if you need anything else. Anything at all."

“Yeah,” Hopper nods, opening the screen door and letting everyone else step out ahead of him. “We’re happy to help. And, seriously, if you need Max to come stay with us for a while, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Hargrove smiles again, grabbing the door as they all stand on the porch facing her. “Have a good night.”

“Oh, and Steve,” Hopper says before she can close it. “Let us know if you hear from Billy?”

“Will do, Chief.” Steve nods. He wants to say thank you, because he realizes that he hasn’t, but Mrs. Hargrove looks anxious to get the extra people out of her house and get back to the hospital, so he doesn’t say anything else, letting her close the door and turn back around to face him and Max.

“I’m just going to grab a few things and then head back,” she says, making her way toward the hall that leads back to the bedrooms.

“Sure,” Steve nods, glancing at Max, who looks genuinely exhausted now that everyone is gone and she’s not so worried about looking brave anymore. Steve offers half a smile, and she just frowns in return, wrapping her arms around her waist and heading down the same hallway Mr. Hargrove disappeared into. Steve’s not really sure what to do with himself, standing there alone in the living room, but he notices that the coffee pot and mugs, half filled with coffee, are still scattered across the coffee table, so he busies himself gathering them and taking them to the kitchen.

It’s about ten minutes before Mrs. Hargrove comes back out of her room, and Max is trailing behind her, eyes red and glassy like she’d just been crying.

“Okay, so,” Mrs. Hargrove says as she steps into the kitchen, grabbing a notepad and pen from beside the fridge. “Here’s the number for Neil’s room at the hospital. Please don’t call unless it’s an emergency. I’ll be back in the morning, in time for church.” She rips off the note she was writing on and hangs it up on the fridge, then turns to look at Steve.

“I know it’s late, but I would like Max to be ready for church by eight-thirty.” She tells him. “Neil’s going to need all the prayers we can give him.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve nods.

“You’re welcome to join us, of course,” she says. “And then I’ll need to head back to the hospital directly after. Will you be able to watch Maxine then?”  
“Of course,” Steve nods again. “I don’t have anything until school on Monday.”

“What about your parents, should I call them?” she asks.

“No,” Steve answers. “They’re out of town for the next week.”

“Oh,” she looks a little surprised, but relieved. “Okay, well, I imagine I won’t need you to stay past Monday. Hopefully Billy will be back before then. But I suppose we can just play it by ear?”

“Sure,” Steve responds, swallowing down the uncomfortable feeling that comes with thinking about Billy still not being home by Monday.

“I better be going,” she reaches a hand out to pull Max into a quick hug and leans down to look her in the eye. “Be good for Steve, okay? And go to bed, please. It’s late enough as it is.”

“Course,” Max nods.

“Thanks again, Steve,” Mrs. Hargrove says, straightening back up with a smile on her face, and then leaves the room. Neither he or Max move as they listen to her gather her things and leave the house, closing and locking the front door behind her.

“You’re not sleeping tonight either, right?” Max asks, looking up at Steve knowingly. He just shakes his head in response and she nods again, still frowning. She disappears back down the hall, then comes back with an armful of blankets and pillows. She heads straight into the living room, and Steve joins her. He helps her spread out a few onto the floor and then accepts the extras, laying them on the couch. They don’t really say anything as they both get comfortable in their respective places, Max flipping on the TV and leaving it on Nightline before settling into her own spot. Neither of them move to switch the light off and Steve can see Max watching the door from where she’s sprawled out in her nest of blankets.

He turns to lie on his back, propping an arm behind his head, and stares up at the ceiling. Eleven’s words play over in his head “Not ready, he’s safe” and frustration boils beneath his skin. He knows that Eleven’s got these crazy psychic powers and that she’s more insightful than your average twelve-year-old, but he can’t really understand why they’ve let her call the shots on this one. She doesn’t know Billy like Steve knows Billy, how can she possibly understand what he needs right now?

Billy needs to know that this wasn’t his fault, that there’s no reason for him to hide, that he has people who are scared for him, who care about him, who are on his side. He looks back at Max, who’s still facing the front door, and hopes that Billy at least knows he has Max. Because he’s not dumb enough to think he’s a good enough reason for Billy to come home, but he hopes Billy thinks that Max is. At this point he doesn't really care what gets Billy to come home, he just wants him to come back to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I'm losing motivation a bit, but hopefully it doesn't show in this chapter too much.
> 
> Let me know if you liked this chapter and what you think of the direction I'm taking this. I still have a vague plan in mind, and I'm thinking we've probably reached the halfway point now, but I'm in desperate need of some extra motivation to see it through. Any feedback you have is greatly appreciated!
> 
> Comments are my favorite, and kudos are pretty swell too.
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who's been following along! :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy.
> 
> Sorry it's been a week since my last update.
> 
> But here, have a lil angst...
> 
> Ps - I listened to the song Lung by Vancouver Sleep Clinic on repeat while writing this chapter. In case you want an angsty, moody song to enhance your reading experience. ;)

Steve must have nodded off at some point last night, because the next thing he knows Max is shaking him awake.

“It’s almost eight,” she says. “Mom’ll be home soon.” It takes a minute for his brain to catch up with what’s going on. He wonders first why he’s on a couch in a house that’s unfamiliar, and then last night comes crashing back down on him. He blinks up at her a few times, heart beginning to race as it finally registers that it’s morning and he’d fallen asleep and he still doesn’t know where Billy is.

“Billy?” he asks, and Max shakes her head, frowning. He sighs, stretching out until he hears a few joints pop, and then sits up.

“Mom usually makes breakfast on Sunday mornings,” Max tells him, standing up straight and heading for the kitchen. “But we should have some cereal or something, if Billy didn’t eat the last of it.” Steve gets up from the couch, crossing his arms over his chest, and follows, stopping to watch her from the doorway as she rifles through the pantry. She pulls out a box of Honey Nut Cheerios and then goes to the fridge to grab the milk.

“You just gonna stand there all morning?” she asks, closing the fridge and raising an eyebrow at Steve. He shakes his head, unfolding his arms and walking over to the kitchen table. Max takes two bowls and two spoons out of the dishwasher and meets him at the table.

They don’t say anything as she pours equal amounts of cheerios into each of the bowls, then uncaps the milk and drowns her cereal with it before pushing it across the table to Steve alongside his bowl and spoon.

“Thanks,” he nods, pouring a much more conservative amount of milk over his own cereal and then setting it aside. Max stares down at her bowl as she chews and swallows her first few bites, and Steve wonders if the rest of the day is going to be like this. He’s never really bonded with Max in particular, but he didn’t expect it to be quite this awkward.

“Thanks, by the way,” she says suddenly, still looking at her cereal. “For looking for Billy, and for staying with me.”

“Sure, Max,” he smiles, hoping she can still see it even if she won’t look at him.

“You really care about Billy, don’t you?” She asks after another beat of silence and Steve feels his face flush with embarrassment as he recalls his behavior the previous night. It’s true that he cares about Billy, probably more than he should, but it’s a truth he’s only just coming to face, and he never really intended for anyone else to know about it. He’d clearly given up all pretenses when he all but lost it in front of everyone last night.

“It’s okay,” Max says, and her tone sounds almost sad, but she’s smiling a little when she finally looks up at him. “To care about Billy, I mean. He’s not all that bad, and it’s nice...to know I’m not the only one.”

“Yeah, he uh…” He coughs, looking down at his own cereal as he tries to figure out how to respond. “He’s not terrible.” He stuffs a spoonful of cheerios into his mouth and takes his time chewing, glancing back up experimentally at Max after a beat. She’s just watching him with a look that says she’s less than impressed.

“He’s a good friend,” he offers, inexplicably nervous about admitting out loud that he considers Billy a friend. Max seems pleased enough with that, smiling once again and tucking back into her food.

Mrs. Hargrove comes home around 8:30 to change for church. She invites Steve to come with them, and he agrees, if only for the distraction it will provide. Staying here or going back to his own house sounds like a death sentence right now.

He’s a bit self-conscious walking into the sanctuary, wearing the clothes he’d thrown on last night. He’d at least had the presence of mind to put on actual jeans and a t-shirt that didn’t reek; but he refused to look in a mirror, knowing that his hair must look horrendous and there’s absolutely nothing he can do about it.

“Steve?” Dustin calls out as he steps through the church doors, confused expression on his face.

“Hey, man,” Steve responds, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Dustin’s gaze moves from Steve to Mrs. Hargrove and Max, who are stood beside him. Steve realizes how bizarre this must look, him coming to church with Billy’s family, especially considering Dustin probably has no idea what’s happened.

“Don’t usually see you here...” Dustin says carefully, the statement left open like it was really meant to be a question.

“Yeah, uh…” Steve flounders.

“Neil’s in the hospital,” Max interjects. “So Steve is staying with me while mom stays with Neil.”

“Isn’t that what Billy’s for?” Dustin raises an eyebrow.

“He’s MIA,” Max says, shrugging, and Steve is surprised by how casually she says it, like it’s no big deal. He knows for a fact that it is a big deal, that Max has been just as worried about Billy as he has. How many times does a kid her age have to cover their own emotions like that before it just becomes second nature?

“Seriously?” Dustin asks, jaw practically on the floor. “What did he do?”

“Why do you just assume Billy did something?” Steve asks at the same time that Max says:

“He didn’t do anything, Neil had a stroke, you jackass.”

Mrs. Hargrove sucks in a sharp breath at that, glaring at Max in reprimand.

“Sorry,” Max says, rolling her eyes as soon as her mother is distracted by another churchgoer.

“Okay, geez,” Dustin holds up his arms placatingly. “You said he was MIA, and we all know what he did to Steve’s face last fall. I just thought...”

“He’s not like that,” Max replies defensively, tacking on a quiet “anymore,” at the end.

“Okay,” Dustin nods, but he doesn’t look entirely convinced. “So why’s he missing?”

“We don’t know,” Steve answers, and he really hopes it doesn’t come out as shaky as he feels.

“I bet El could find him,” Dustin says, and Max’s eyes go wide, glancing around the room hastily.

“Shut up,” she hisses.

“What?” Dustin raises an eyebrow again. “Seriously, El…”

“Dude, seriously?” Steve glares at him, gesturing as mildly as he can to Mrs. Hargrove who’s still standing right beside him and Max. Her attention is otherwise occupied, but she’s still definitely within hearing range. Dustin’s eyes follow the motion to land on Mrs. Hargrove and his mouth snaps shut.

“Right,” he whispers. “Sorry.”

“Maxine,” Mrs. Hargrove turns back to the group, the smile on her face falling as soon as the person she’d been speaking to walks away. “Come. Let’s find a seat.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Max nods, then looks back at Steve expectantly.

“We’ll talk more after service, okay?” Steve says to Dustin and doesn’t wait for a reply as he follows them over to a row of pews.

They settle in and Max pulls the little paper booklet full of hymnals out of the back of the pew in front of them, flipping through it nervously as they wait for service to begin. Steve takes this chance to look around the room. Most of the town attends church on Sundays, so there are a lot of familiar faces, but then his eyes land on Nancy’s. She’s watching him from where she’s sat beside Mrs. Wheeler across the center aisle. She raises an eyebrow in question, eyes falling on Mrs. Hargrove to his right, and he looks away. She probably already has some idea of what’s going on from Jonathan, but he doesn’t owe her any explanation.

He turns his attention back to the front of the sanctuary and digs his thumbnails into his index fingers, anything to distract from the unease that sits in his stomach, heavy and bubbling like it’s going to boil over at any moment into full-blown panic again. He feels sick, sitting here in this warm church with Billy’s family, while Billy’s out there somewhere, alone and probably thinking he has nowhere to go.

-

When church lets out Steve finds Dustin again, and they make plans for the Party to meet up at the Hargroves after lunch. He could use the distraction, and he thinks Max could too. Mrs. Hargrove doesn’t protest, just asks that everyone be gone by seven o’clock so Max can finish any homework she has for the following day and still get to bed early.

It’s weird, Steve thinks, to see a mother who’s involved enough in Max’s life to care that she gets her homework done in a timely manner and goes to bed at a decent hour. Especially considering the fact that she’s got a husband in the hospital, a step-son that’s gone AWOL, and is all but living at the hospital for the next few days. It would be perfectly normal, in Steve’s eyes, for her to be a bit distracted and unconcerned with Max’s wellbeing.

It’s even weirder to him the level of comfort and familiarity between them; the way Mrs. Hargrove lets Max play with her hair while she makes them lunch, and listens enthusiastically over her plate of salad while Max talks about her latest school project.

It’s the kind of relationship Steve couldn’t even begin to imagine with his own mother. And he knows there’s something unique about a mother-daughter relationship, but he’s been around Joyce and her boys enough to know it’s not that different. Watching the two of them interact leaves a lonely ache in his chest that he rarely lets himself feel.

Mrs. Hargrove heads back to the hospital after lunch, promising to be back for dinner on Monday. She gives Max a kiss on the top of her head, and thanks Steve once again before leaving. Max loads up the dishwasher with the dirty dishes from lunch while Steve folds up the blankets in the living room and takes them back to Max’s room.

Lucas is the first one to show up, and he brings a tin of cookies that his mom apparently made. He stands with Max in the kitchen while she finishes wiping down the counters, asking questions in whispers that Steve’s pretty sure he’s not meant to hear.

“Where do you think he is?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” she answers. “He could be anywhere.”

“El said he’s safe, though?” Lucas presses.

“Yeah,” she says. There’s a knock on the door then and Steve doesn’t get to hear the rest of their conversation as he makes his way over to it, finding Mike, Will, and Joyce on the other side. Will has a sketchbook tucked under his arm, looking a bit sheepish as usual, and Mike’s expression is less than enthusiastic, but Joyce is smiling and holding a pan with tin foil over the top of it.

“Hey,” Steve greets, stepping aside to let them in.

“Hey, Steve,” Joyce says as she passes him, reaching a hand out to grip his arm affectionately.

“How are you doing?” she asks as he leans into the touch a bit, offering half a smile in return.

“I’m okay,” he shrugs. It doesn’t necessarily feel like a lie, the morning has been sufficiently distracting so far, but the look that she gives him says that she knows it’s a lie. He must look more like shit than he thought.

“You didn’t have to bring anything,” he changes the subject, eying the pan in her other arm.

“Nonsense,” she scoffs holding it up for him to see. “It’s just some lasagna that I had in the freezer. I figured the kids would need something for supper.”

“Thank you,” he smiles, taking it from her and heading into the kitchen. Mike and Will are sitting at the kitchen table already with Max and Lucas, talking loudly over each other about the outcome of their last campaign.

“Have you heard from Billy at all?” Joyce asks.

“Nope,” Steve shakes his head, opening up the freezer to shove the lasagna between a bag of peas that looks like it’s seen better days and the opened box of Bagel Bites from the day before. It’s strange to think that he was stood in this same kitchen with Billy just a day ago, watching him arrange Bagel Bites on a tray and take shit for it from his dad. It feels like that happened ages ago now.

There’s another knock on the door and Mike shoots up out of his seat to answer it, groaning loudly in disappointment when it’s Dustin and not Eleven.

“Nice to see you too,” Dustin says sarcastically, following Mike into the kitchen. He’s got a backpack slung over his shoulder and he drops it onto the table before taking a seat.

“I brought snacks,” he announces, unzipping the main compartment. “And entertainment.”

“Gremlins, seriously?” Max snorts as she pulls out a stack of movies, and Dustin sticks out his tongue in response.

Joyce gives Steve instructions for how to heat up the lasagna and then heads out, promising that Jonathan will come by at seven to pick up Mike and Will. Eleven shows up about ten minutes later, and Hopper stays just long enough to ask Steve if there’s any news, frowning down at Eleven when Steve lets him know there’s nothing new to report. Eleven just shrugs and hurries into the kitchen to join the others.

“How long are we going to let her get away with not telling us?” Steve asks Hopper once she’s gone.

“I know I’m supposed to be the dad,” Hopper says on a sigh. “But she’s got better instincts than any of us. So until I see justifiable reason to make her spill, it’s not going to happen.” Steve wants to ask why his peace of mind isn’t a justifiable enough reason, but he doesn’t feel like bringing even more attention to how upset he is about all of this, so he just bites his tongue and accepts it.

The kids end up agreeing to watch The Karate Kid and Steve busies himself with making popcorn and filling all of their drink requests. Dustin comes into the kitchen and leans against the counter, watching Steve quietly as he pulls out glasses and fills them with an array of juices.

“So…” Dustin says at length, and Steve doesn’t like the sound of his tone; it’s too careful, like he’s afraid of spooking Steve.

“What’s up?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder briefly.

“You know I’m here,” Dustin says. “If you want to like...talk or whatever.”

“About what?” Steve goes for lighthearted, but the words catch in his throat a little, betraying how anxious he suddenly feels.

“You just, seem a little freaked out.” Dustin shrugs. “I know you and Billy are kinda close now or whatever. So it makes sense, for you to be worried about him.”

“I’m fine, man,” Steve waves a hand dismissively, turning back to continue pouring the drinks. His hands are shaking, but he manages to get through pouring each one without spilling.

“Okay,” Dustin responds and then steps up beside Steve, grabbing a couple of the cups and heading back into the living room. Steve breathes a sigh of relief. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate Dustin’s concern, he’s just having a difficult time parsing out what he’s feeling and he’s not entirely interested in doing that with Dustin. He’s a smart kid, but he’s still a kid. He doesn’t need to worry about any of Steve’s shit.

Steve returns to the living room with the rest of the drinks, handing them out and then squeezing in between Dustin and Will on the floor. He doesn’t really care for The Karate Kid all that much, but what the movie lacks in entertainment Max makes up for every time she kicks Dustin in the head for quoting the lines out loud.

The rest of the night goes as expected, Steve heats up the lasagna after the movie ends and the kids get into a heated game of Monopoly that keeps them occupied until seven, when Jonathan shows up to collect Mike, Will, and Eleven, and Mrs. Sinclair picks up Lucas and Dustin. Max offers to help clean up but Steve insists on her getting to her homework, so she sits at the kitchen table and huffs over her math homework while he does the dishes.

“Do you think he’s on his way back to California?” Max asks suddenly, and Steve has to swallow around the lump in his throat. He’d managed to push Billy to the back of his mind for the majority of the afternoon, but he should’ve known that wouldn’t last.

“Do _you_ think he is?” He shoots back, looking over at her from where he’s stood in front of the sink, scrubbing at a soapy plate. Max blinks at him a few times, then looks back down at the worksheet she’s been working on for the last ten minutes. She shoves the eraser of her pencil in between her teeth and bites down on it, considering. It reminds Steve of Billy, making something sharp catch in his chest.

“He doesn’t really have a reason to stay in Indiana,” she answers finally, voice laced with a self-deprecating sort of sadness that’s all too familiar to him.

“True,” he nods, feeling hollowed out as he turns his attention back to the dishes. She’s right about that, Billy doesn’t have any reason to be in Indiana, and he’s been chomping at the bit to go back to California ever since he got here. Steve knows this, has always known this about Billy, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less to hear it.

He feels stupid, for thinking that maybe that had changed in some way. Billy’s never promised him anything. And Steve never asked him to. Why would he? They were always just friends, bonding over their mutual dislike of this god-awful place and biding their time until they could say farewell to everything; including each other.

He finishes up the dishes and then sits down beside Max, doing his best to help her with her homework. He’s never been great at math, but he’s better at it than English, so he’s not completely hopeless. She’s a smartass, so he doesn’t walk away from the experience with his ego entirely intact, but they find mutual ground eventually and manage to laugh their way through most of it.

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch, you know,” Max says, walking into the living room after brushing her teeth. “Billy’s bed is probably way more comfortable, and he’s not exactly using it.”

“Oh, uh,” Steve stares up at her from where he’s laying blankets across the couch. “I’d rather just...stay out here.”

“Suit yourself,” she shrugs, then pulls some clothes out from where they were tucked under her arm. “Here, I stole these from Billy's room.” Steve is about to wave them off, embarrassed by the way his stomach flutters at the idea of wearing Billy’s clothes.

“Seriously, Steve,” she says, glaring now. “You smell horrible and those jeans cannot be comfortable to sleep in.”

“Okay,” he sighs, reaching out and taking them with a nod. “Thanks.” He contemplates just waiting for her to leave and then setting them aside, but she folds her arms over her chest defiantly and continues to glare at him. So he nods again and heads over to the bathroom to change.

The shirt is threadbare and has a faded Led Zeppelin logo on it, Steve thinks it was probably black when it was brand new but now it’s a dark grey. It smells like Billy, Steve can’t help noticing as he pulls it over his head; like cologne and cigarette smoke and something else that he can’t really place but it reminds him so much of Billy that his chest aches with it.

The pants are flannel, a hideous red plaid that he normally wouldn’t be caught dead in, but he likes the idea of Billy in them. It makes his cheeks heat up a little as he looks around the cramped bathroom as if he’ll find witnesses to the embarrassing thought.

He steps back out into the living room to find Max arranging the blankets on the couch for him.

“Thanks,” he says, something warm tugging at his chest as he watches her fluff his pillow like it’ll make some kind of difference.

“Sure,” she smiles, and then hesitates for a moment, glancing at the hallway and then back at him as the smile falls from her face.

“Everything okay?” he asks, folding his arms over his chest.

“No, I mean, yeah.” She nods quickly, a bit defensive. “I’m fine. Goodnight.”

“Night, Max,” Steve tries for a smile, and she offers half a smile again before walking slowly back to her room.

He doesn’t turn off any of the lights before he sprawls out on the couch and stares up at the ceiling, much like he did the night before. He’s not used to the sounds of this house like he is his own, so the sound of the heater kicking on makes him jump, skin prickling all along his arms and neck. He feels frozen for several seconds, breath shallow like he’s trying to be as quiet as possible. He waits for a shadow to appear on the ceiling, for the gurgling sound of some demon to disrupt the quiet hum of hot air being blown out of the vent in the floor nearby.

A shadow does appear in his periphery, but it’s not a demon. It’s Max. She’s carrying an armful of blankets from her room once again, and she looks a little embarrassed when she notices Steve staring, wide-eyed, up at her. She doesn’t say anything, though, just goes about setting up a small nest of blankets in front of the TV. When she’s done rearranging the blankets, she turns on the TV and turns the volume down until it’s barely audible, then climbs into her makeshift bed and turns over to stare at the screen.

Steve blinks a few times, and finally wills himself to move. His muscles feel stiff as he turns onto his side so he can watch the pictures shift on the TV screen. He focuses on that while he forces himself to breathe deeply in and out several times. Everything is fine. There are no demons here. He’s safe, Max is safe, Eleven said that Billy was safe. Everyone is safe.

-

Steve doesn’t sleep much on Sunday night, so he’s already awake when it’s time to get Max up for school on Monday. They don’t bother to clean up the living room, knowing that Mrs. Hargrove won’t be back until that evening anyway. Steve throws together a couple of sandwiches for their lunches while Max stabs a fork into her half of a grapefruit absentmindedly. Steve’s never seen a kid eat grapefruit voluntarily before, and it’s a little weird if he’s being honest, but he doesn’t say anything about it.

She pours cheerios into two cups and hands one to him as they head out of the house.

“What’s this?” he asks, looking down at the cup in his hand with an eyebrow raised. When he looks back up at her she’s just staring blankly at him, cheeks flushing pink.

“Sorry,” she says, reaching a hand out to take the cheerios back. “Billy doesn’t really eat breakfast, but he’ll eat cheerios if I pour him a cup in the mornings. I guess I just...wasn’t really thinking about it.”

“No, it’s fine,” he smiles, pulling the cup in closer to himself. “Thank you.” She just nods, smiling back, and follows him to the car.

After he drops Max off at the Middle School and finds a parking spot closer to the High School, he tries not to think too much about the absence of Billy or his Camaro. He’d gotten into the routine of seeking out the other boy before class, parking as close to him as possible and then walking in with him as the first warning bell sounds. But he’s alone today as he heads into the school, several minutes before the first bell even goes off.

At lunch he opts to sit in the cafeteria for once, unable to go out and sit by his car alone, knowing he’ll just feel Billy’s absence there even more. He regrets it almost immediately, though. Several people ask him where Billy is, a reminder that he and Billy’s closeness wasn’t just this weird thing that existed in a vacuum, but something everyone around them was aware of. It’s not likely that any of them know about Billy’s dad, or the fact that Billy’s actually gone missing, but it doesn’t really matter. Every time someone asks he just feels more and more agitated by it all.

He’s about to lose it on Julie Carraway, person number seven to ask him about Billy, when Nancy and Jonathan come and sit down across from him, setting their own sack lunches on the table and glaring up at Julie.

“What makes you think Steve is Billy’s keeper?” Nancy bites out, to which Julie shakes her head nervously and walks away. Steve just stares at Nancy for a beat, mouth open in surprise, unsure how to respond. Did he miss the conversation where they made up and became friends again?

“Shut your mouth, Steve, unless you’re trying to catch flies.” Nancy says, eyes flitting from Julie’s retreating form to him. He snaps his mouth shut and looks down at his half-eaten sandwich.

“Thanks,” he says quietly.

“People are such assholes.” Nancy shrugs, ripping the lid off of her pudding cup.

“I didn’t realize you’re a Led Zeppelin fan,” Jonathan says from where he’s sat beside her, looking from Steve’s shirt to his face as he dismembers a sandwich and pours way too much ketchup onto it.

“What?” Steve asks as he glances down at his own chest, remembering that he’s still wearing Billy’s shirt. He didn’t have anything clean to wear and Max made a face at him when he picked up his own shirt this morning, sniffing it to see if he could get one more wear out of it. He decided to keep on the Led Zeppelin shirt and just throw his jacket on over it, hoping no one would notice how out of place it looked on him. He’s never worn a band t-shirt in his life.

“Oh, uh,” Steve shrugs, suppressing a gag when he looks up just in time to see the other boy dip a dorito in ketchup and eat it. “I’m not. Max kept complaining that I smelled, so I stole this from Billy’s room so she’d shut up.”

“How long are you staying with Max?” Nancy asks, stealing a dorito from Jonathan and eating it sans ketchup, like a _normal fucking person_.

“Not really sure,” Steve answers. “Mr. Hargrove will be in the hospital for another week at least. But Mrs. Hargrove doesn’t think she’ll be staying with him that whole time.” Nancy nods and turns her attention back to her pudding.

They finish their lunch in companionable silence, and part ways when the bell rings. Steve isn’t really sure what to make of the whole interaction. He doesn’t know if this means Nancy’s ready to accept her responsibility in the way things fell apart between them, or if he’s really willing to call her a friend yet if she is. But he’s too exhausted to put much thought into it right now, and he’s mostly just grateful for the company at lunch. Once Nancy and Jonathan joined him, no one else came up to ask him about Billy.

Max and Dustin meet him by the Beemer after school. Dustin gets a ride home with Steve every Monday, and sometimes he’ll hang out with Dustin until Mrs. Henderson gets home for dinner, but tonight they take a detour to Steve’s house. He’s been wearing the same clothes since Saturday night, with the exception of Billy’s pajamas last night, and he’s desperate for something clean of his own.

Dustin and Max watch MTV in the den while Steve showers and throws together an overnight bag, making sure to pack a can of hairspray because it’s been two days since he’s been able to give his hair the proper love and attention it deserves and he doesn’t intend to go any longer than that.

He changes into his own clothes after his shower, and if he leaves Billy’s shirt on the foot of his bed on purpose when he leaves, no one needs to know.

They drop off Dustin at his house and make it back to the Hargrove house just in time to clean up the living room and knock out some homework before Mrs. Hargrove comes home for dinner.

Dinner is a casserole that one of the nurses at the hospital apparently made for them, and Mrs. Hargrove catches them up on Neil’s health while they wait for it to heat up.

The doctors expect him to make a full recovery, and think he’ll be ready to come home within a week. Mrs. Hargrove intends to stay just one more night with him in the hospital before coming home for good tomorrow. So it’s decided, Steve will be staying at the Hargroves until tomorrow evening, and then he’ll go back home to his big, empty house. It’s a bittersweet thing. He misses his bed, but he’s not overly fond of the idea of being alone again. He’s grown quite used to having someone else around all the time, someone to look out for.

-

Tuesday is a bit of a blur. He manages to fall asleep for a little bit, waking up to find Max lying in her usual spot on the living room floor. They clean up and head to school, munching away on dry cheerios and blasting the radio at top volume.

Nancy and Jonathan join him for lunch again, and he doesn’t question it. He doesn’t really listen as they talk about whatever inane things they can think of, but he appreciates the company anyway. He gets through the rest of the day on autopilot, pointedly not thinking about how Billy isn’t there to throw things at the back of his head and distract him during Physics; or how he isn’t there to push him just that little bit harder during PE.

Max meets him in the parking lot and they return to the Hargrove house, setting up at the kitchen table with their homework and snacking on some shitty trail mix that’s apparently one of the only snacks allowed in their house. Steve picks out the M&M’s to eat while Max complains to him about her homework through a mouthful of the stuff. He teases her about liking it, and she makes an off-handed comment about how at least she won’t have diabetes at eighteen. Steve knows he’s going to miss this.

When Mrs. Hargrove gets home she invites him to eat dinner with them, and he accepts, happy to prolong the inevitable return home. They reheat the leftover casserole from the night before and dig in.

“Thank you again, for looking after Max.” Mrs. Hargrove says as she walks with Steve to the front door after dinner. “It was a huge help.”

“Any time,” Steve smiles, stepping out onto the porch and then turning around to face her again for a moment. “And seriously, if you need me to pick her up in the mornings or bring her home, stay with her for a bit after school, just say the word.” Max comes up to stand beside her mom, her face is a mask of indifference but Steve knows better by now.

“Actually, would you be able to pick her up after school tomorrow?” Mrs. Hargrove asks.

“Of course,” Steve nods, glancing at Max as something like relief crosses her expression.

“Great,” Mrs. Hargrove smiles. “Thank you. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow,” Steve smiles again and turns to walk away as Mrs. Hargrove closes the door behind him.

He takes a moment to breathe in deeply a few times when he reaches his car, feeling shaky as it finally hits him that he has to just go home now and carry on like before. He climbs into the driver’s seat and turns the radio up all the way when he starts the car, hoping to drown out the anxiety with noise.

-

The big, empty house feels emptier today when he steps inside, toeing off his shoes on the rug in the foyer and abandoning them there along with his bag in favor of climbing the stairs to his room. There’s an uneasiness that’s both familiar and old settling into his gut. He realizes, somewhere between taking a shower and cleaning his room, that it’s the loneliness he’s felt throughout most of his life. That same harsh, bone-deep loneliness that had been dulled by Billy’s friendship and that he’s been absolutely terrified of feeling again since he started to consider Billy a real friend.

He spots Billy’s t-shirt on the foot of his bed as he’s cleaning up and doesn’t know if he’s grateful to himself or hates himself for leaving it there. He decides not to think too hard about it, opting instead to put the t-shirt on, breathing in the lingering scent of Billy on the collar. He gathers up his comforter and a pillow and makes his way downstairs, throwing them onto the couch in the den before going to the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

He turns on all the lights in the den and flicks on the TV, turning the volume up until it drowns out the little sounds that always keep him awake at night. He burrows into his comforter and turns into the back of the couch, arms pressed to his chest protectively. He pulls the collar of Billy’s shirt up over his nose and breathes in deeply. Normally he would feel weird for doing it, embarrassed even, but there’s a strange kind of comfort in the hollowed out feeling it leaves him with. He closes his eyes as his mind goes over the events of the day; replaying all the moments where Billy’s absence was felt the most intensely. It’s true what they say, that you never really realize what you have until it’s gone.

He misses Billy. So much that he absolutely aches with it.

It scares him, how much and how quickly he misses him. It was never supposed to be like this. Billy was never supposed to be so integral to his every day that he felt like a man who’d lost a limb, trying to carry on without him. He’s not sure who he resents more. Billy for forcing his way into his life, making himself important and then just disappearing. Or himself, for letting Billy become important to him, and letting himself feel something akin to trust in the other boy when he knows better.

He thinks maybe it’s himself. He’s such a goddamn idiot. He absolutely should have known better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to be able to tell you that things are going to start looking up from here, but that's a lie. There's going to be a fair amount more angst before we get nice things. So strap in and consider yourself warned.
> 
> I'm going to try and have the next update up within a couple days, because I'm sure you're all wondering where Billy is and what's going on with him. But I make absolutely no promises.
> 
> Thank you all so much for the lovely comments on the last chapter! I kept going back and reading them whenever I needed some extra motivation. I really appreciate your feedback, too. I love hearing what y'all are thinking so far and the questions you have about where things are headed! :)
> 
> As always, kudos and comments fuel me!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me a literal week ago: I'll update in a couple days  
> Me now: Here take it...*hides in shame*

When Billy wakes up on Sunday morning, he wants to curl up tighter in his motel bed and sleep until he can wake up and find all of this to be a terrible nightmare. He wants to be able to rewind last night, to go back and bite his tongue while his father calls Steve a faggot and tears into Billy for being such a goddamn disgusting idiot. He wishes desperately that this could be just any other Sunday morning. That he could wake up with fresh bruises blooming across his chest and face, that Max would sneak into his room to give him toast and some ibuprofen before leaving for church. Hell, he would even take smearing concealer under his eye so he could go sit on those uncomfortable wooden pews and listen to the pastor yammer on and on about some supposed god’s justice and might over waking up in this dingy, old motel room; completely alone and unsure of where to go from here.

But he’s not an idiot, and he learned long ago that wishful thinking gets him absolutely nowhere. He’s nearly out of cash and he’s going to be out on his ass if he can’t figure out a way to scrounge up some more. So he crawls out of bed and gets dressed, stomach growling at him, and he realizes that it’s been a while since he ate last.

He heads out on foot, trying to preserve the last bit of gas he has in the Camaro just in case, and ends up finding a diner with a Now Hiring sign in the window only a couple blocks away from the motel. He goes in and fills up on coffee and toast, and then asks about the Now Hiring sign. The lady behind the counter, Mel, turns out to be the owner and after a brief conversation she puts him to work bussing tables and washing dishes. The pay isn’t great, but it’s enough to cover the motel with a little left over for cigarettes and booze, and they give him a free meal for every shift he works, so he’s not complaining.

He passes for legal at most bars, or they just don’t really care, so he tags along with a few of the servers from the diner when they go out for drinks to let off steam that night. They’re a strange sort of mishmash of characters, with shady enough pasts of their own not to be concerned with his. He mostly appreciates that they don’t try to look after him or tell him six beers is plenty when he orders a seventh. They’re also pretty generous with their cigarettes, which leaves him more money for that seventh beer.

The night starts off harmless enough. Billy throws back beer after beer while listening to them chatter about their lives. It’s pretty much the same boring shit the people back in Hawkins have to talk about, but it’s a good distraction.

And then Billy has one drink too many, and he gets a little riled up and ends up starting a fight with some stranger at the bar. The guy had been a total ass, he was basically asking for it, though Billy couldn’t tell you any of the specifics of why. He hadn’t been in a real fight since he beat the shit out of Steve back in the fall, and the truth is that some part of him has missed it.

It’s like all that anger and frustration has been boiling just below the surface this whole time, carefully tamped down by this need to prove something to Max and placate his own guilt over being a complete asshole. But it’s been unleashed again, the alcohol and the rush of the fight snapping the final threads of control he’d been carefully clinging to.

There’s something almost comforting in the burst of pain across his jaw when the man’s fist connects with it; in the bruises that he knows will swell along his ribs and ache when he passes out on the wrong side later. It’s familiar, and it feels right somehow. Like this is how he pays retribution for whatever he did to his father. He knows that he deserves every hit.

It also just feels really fucking good to hit back. The feeling of his knuckles cracking open when he lands his own punch on the guy’s nose, the way the guy stumbles back, clutching his nose, giving Billy a moment of reprieve. He’d grown so used to being the one getting hit and not being able to hit back. There’s a release that comes with it, a feeling of losing control that both exhilarates and frightens him.

When he gets kicked out of the bar for starting the fight, none of his new coworkers follow. Not that he’d expected them to, after all they don’t really know him. He’s used to fumbling his way through this kind of thing on his own anyway. The bar isn’t too far from the diner and motel, so he stumbles his way back to the motel and passes out on the bed before he has a chance to even take off his shoes.

He shows up late and hungover for his morning shift, dark red bruise across the left side of his jaw and eyes bloodshot. Mel gives him a skeptical once-over and offers him his first warning not to be late again. So naturally he goes out again that night, gets slightly less drunk this time, and picks a fight with someone a little smaller.

He knows that it isn’t sustainable, that he can’t just self-destruct and expect to get anywhere. But every time he tries to convince himself to just go back to the motel after work, to lay off the alcohol in favor getting some actual sleep, he thinks about all of the guilt and frustration and fear that awaits him there. And he’s not ready to face any of that.

So for the next three nights he cycles through this routine, wash, rinse, repeat; craving the numbness that comes with the alcohol, and the release that comes from the fight. But then he shows up late for the third time and Mel tells him the next time he’s so much as a minute late he better not come in at all. At first he gets angry, seriously considers just cussing her out and leaving in a fury, but he needs this job. He has nowhere else to go at this point, so, fueled by his desperation to keep the job, he takes a bottle of whiskey back to the motel with him that night. He’s too paranoid about sleeping through another alarm to drink much, though, and ends up just staring at the TV all night. The next night he decides to take a walk, smoking through half a pack and trying to figure out what the fuck he’s going to do as he wanders through the streets of Indianapolis.

None of this fits into the plans he’d spent the past several years crafting for himself. Those plans being to work his ass off in school, survive his father’s house, and graduate with a good enough GPA to earn himself a spot at university and a nice scholarship so he could finally get the fuck of out of there.

Despite Neil’s apparent lack of faith in Billy’s capabilities, he’s been feeding into a college fund for him ever since he was in diapers. So Billy’s always kind of operated under the assumption that he would end up in college, but after his mom died and Neil’s control over him became tighter, he made up his mind to get out from under that control as soon as he possibly could. This meant finding a way to pay for college on his own, because there’s no way his father would let up if he still held financial power over him. So he hunkered down, put all of his effort and attention into school, which wasn’t difficult because he was a bit of a loner at school anyway, and started gathering as much information as he could about scholarships and how to earn them.

And then Neil married Susan, and suddenly Billy was expected to be a big brother. He’d never been responsible for another person in his life, and he lashed out a lot during that first year. It wreaked havoc on the already fragile balancing act he’d been playing, and Neil’s violent streak became much more difficult for Billy to navigate.

So he started to save up whatever money he could get his hands on by doing odd jobs around the neighborhood. And then he figured out that he could make a fair amount more money by helping the dealers at school unload weed and blow. That was highly lucrative, and it meant Neil laid off of him a bit because suddenly he was popular at school, which made him automatically more normal and acceptable to his father. It helped that he also started going out with girls pretty regularly and earned a bit of a reputation for himself, because the whole bad boy thing gave him an angle that meant more of his classmates came to him for drugs. After two years of dealing, he was making plans to just quit school and leave, strike out on his own. He would’ve done it, too, if Max hadn't gone snooping in his room, found his stash, and narced on him. Neil forced him to give all the money to Susan’s church, and then decided once and for all to move them all to the middle-of-nowhere Indiana.

It seemed like a rash decision, except it really wasn’t. They’d been discussing moving closer to Susan’s mom already, and finding out Billy was dealing had been the final nail in the coffin. So Billy had to go back to his original plan. Keep his head down at home, work hard at school, and get that scholarship so he could attend university back in California, far away from his father and completely out of his control.

There’d been some obvious roadblocks along the way. For starters, Billy was angry as all hell when they first got to Hawkins, which made it really hard to concentrate at school or stay off his father’s radar. Max, of course, was impossible for the first several months, getting him in trouble with Neil more often than not. And then there was Steve Harrington.

Goddamn Steven Harrington. With his perfect hair, and his perfect smile, and his perfect kindness that made less and less sense to Billy the more he got to know about him. Even after Billy gave him every reason under the sun to hate him, to spit in his face and tell him to fuck off, he didn’t do any of that. He was never afraid to throw Billy’s shit right back at him, but he also wasn’t afraid to accept the haphazard sort of friendship Billy was offering before Billy himself even realized what he was doing.

Steve definitely had his own set of issues. He was by no means the perfect little rich kid Billy had assumed him to be from the start. But he’d accepted Billy with a kind of warmth and sincerity that Billy wasn’t used to. How did Billy ever stand a chance of not falling head over heels for the guy?

He didn’t. And that’s exactly how he ended up here. Maybe none of this would have happened if he had just ignored Steve Harrington in favor of focussing on what he needed to accomplish in order to get out; the way he’d always intended to, anyway. Obviously he’s out of his father’s house now, but this was certainly not the plan.

There are two letters informing him that he’d been granted the scholarships he applied for sitting in the shoebox under his bed at home; enough to cover a sizeable tuition with a little extra for living expenses. They arrived in the mail just last week, and it had felt like such a relief at the time. He was just awaiting a letter of acceptance from Berkeley, which had been his top pick since he was twelve. It had all been finally falling into place. But none of that is an option now.

He can’t go if he doesn’t graduate, and he can’t graduate unless he goes back to Hawkins. And that’s out of the question. He tells himself it’s probably for the better, Berkeley wasn’t going to say yes to someone like him anyway.

He thinks about all of this as he wanders the streets, wishing things could be different, wishing _he_ could be different. Better, maybe. Good enough to be the son his dad always wanted. Good enough to be the big brother Max deserved. Good enough to not be in love with Steve fucking Harrington.

The next night he’s itching for a fight, suppressing his anger for the past couple of days is making his skin feel too tight and his jaw is starting to ache from gritting his teeth too much. He decides to go out looking for one, but on his way to a bar he passes a basketball court where a small group of teenagers are playing. He stops and watches for a while, sizing up the players and stamping down the memory of the last time he played, with Steve.

The thought of Steve nearly drives him to continue in his mission to find a bar and a fight, but after a bit of wrestling with himself, he decides to invite himself into the game of basketball. They welcome him in with little preamble, because Indiana boys are apparently all way too nice, even the city boys, and they don’t present as much of a challenge as the last group he played with but they’re not terrible. They put up enough of a fight to keep things a little interesting, anyway. Playing gives him enough of a release that when they call it a night, he doesn’t even think twice about just heading back to the motel instead of still seeking out a bar. They invite him to join them again the next night, and he promises to be there before heading in the opposite direction of the rest of them. When he gets back to the motel he’s exhausted, and for the first time since he arrived in Indianapolis he gets some real sleep.

So he spends the next couple of days clearing tables and scrubbing dishes, and then going to the same basketball court to play with the same group of guys. It’s the perfect distraction. Instead of thinking about how much he misses Steve or how much he wishes things could be different, he focuses on the game. And by the end of each night he’s too tired to be angry. It’s not ideal, but it works. He can’t help thinking Max would be proud of him, for taking the high ground and making it work, despite everything.

-

The rest of Steve’s week drags by. Nancy and Jonathan continue to meet up with him during lunch. They don’t talk about anything important, and Nancy doesn’t make any effort to apologize or bring up the conversation they had on his birthday. It’s frustrating, but their presence during lunch means no one bugs him or asks him about Billy and for that he’s appreciative. By Friday, though, he just feels a bit sick from it all so he ends up hiding in the locker room for the whole period.

Hanging out with Max in the afternoons becomes easier and easier as the week progresses. They figure out that their taste in TV is similar, so they never argue over what to watch. He also finds out that she’s quite good at gin rummy, which he used to play with Jules on days when she didn’t have the energy to chase him around the park; so they default to that when there’s nothing good on TV and they’re done with homework for the day.

Joyce insists that they have dinner on Thursday night and she lets him crash on their couch after dinner, and Steve doesn’t have the words to explain how grateful he is for that. Will rides to school with him the next morning, and Will’s never been a very talkative kid, especially not around Steve, but they have a pleasant enough conversation about the comic Will is working on after a bit of prompting from Steve.

The ache of missing Billy seems to dull in the light of day, and he's able to keep himself distracted through most of the day and early evening, but the nights continue to be his greatest enemy.

He sleeps on the couch in the den every night, TV turned up way too loud and all the lights on. His back aches from how uncomfortable it is, but it’s the only way he can get any sleep at all. He wears Billy’s shirt, too, every single night until he almost can’t smell Billy in the worn fabric anymore. He’s not willing to contemplate what it means to feel comforted by this seemingly innocuous but intimate thing, but he’s stopped feeling outright weird about it.

On Saturday night he invites the kids over to his house for a movie night instead of D&D, and they pile every single blanket and pillow in the whole house onto the floor of the den before settling in for a marathon of both Mad Max movies.

He notices about halfway through the night that Max and Eleven haven’t spoken to each other at all. That kind of thing was normal when Eleven first came back to the Party. But not anymore. It’s pretty normal now to find them whispering back and forth with their heads bent close together, ignoring everyone else in the Party in favor of whatever devious plot they’re concocting.

But not tonight.

He hasn’t seen them speak to each other once the entire night, and he’s pretty sure they’re actively going out of their way to ignore each other. At one point Eleven is helping him with the microwave popcorn when Max comes into the kitchen to refill her drink, and he swears they _glare_ at each other before Max just turns on her heel and leaves. He looks down at Eleven, eyebrow raised in question, but Eleven just shrugs and goes back to watching the popcorn bag spin around in the microwave.

When Hopper shows up to pick them up, the two girls don’t even look at each other as they gather their things and head for the door.

“Any idea what that’s about?” Steve asks Hopper, nodding in their direction.

“What?” Hopper asks, glancing back at them as they climb into his truck. It must be a new development, and one that Hopper isn’t privy to. Steve supposes he shouldn’t be that surprised. Teenagers aren’t really known for talking to their parents about their problems. Then again, Eleven’s not exactly what one would call a “normal teenager”.

“I don’t know, man,” Steve shakes his head. “They’ve been weird all night. So good luck with that.” Hopper just rolls his eyes, sighing exasperatedly, and walks away, Steve closing the door behind him.

The rest of the Party stays the night, all curled up on the den floor, and Steve sleeps on the couch, lulled to sleep by the sound of their obnoxious chattering, because apparently none of them know how to fucking whisper, but it’s a decent enough replacement for the TV.

-

They make a complete mess of the kitchen in the morning trying to make breakfast, which turns out too burnt to eat, and end up piling into the Beemer and stopping by the donut shop to pick up a dozen donuts on their way to church. It’s not really what one could call a balanced breakfast, but they’re running late already and Steve feels responsible for feeding them at least _something_.

When they get to the church they find a place in a pew at the back, fingers and faces still sticky from the glaze of the donuts they’d shoved into their mouths on the ride over. Dustin, Mike, and Lucas seem pretty at ease as they talk over each other and watch people file into the sanctuary, but Will hasn’t stopped looking at his feet and picking at the paper hymnal in his hand since they sat down.

“You okay?” Steve asks, nudging Will in the side with his elbow and slouching down just the slightest bit so he’s eye-level with him.

“Uh, yeah,” Will looks up at him, wide eyes betraying any attempt he could make to seem neutral. “I’m fine.”

“It’s okay, man, I don’t really like church either.” Steve whispers conspiratorially, and that makes Will smile and relax a little. It occurs to him that he’s never seen any of the Byers at church before. It’s not surprising, Joyce has never struck him as a particularly religious person, and it makes sense that Will would feel out of place here.

Nancy finds him after service, pulling him away from the group to speak with him. He almost refuses to go with her, because despite her and Jonathan keeping him company during lunch this past week, he’s not interested in just going back to the way things were. She still hasn’t acknowledged any of the things he’d said to her all those weeks ago, which means he hasn’t forgiven her for the things she’s yet to apologize for.

“We didn’t see you at lunch on Friday,” she says as they stand outside the church, under one of the shade trees. “How are you?”  
“We’re not friends, Nancy,” he answers and the frown he receives in return just makes him angry.

“What do you-” She starts.

“Look, I’m not here to beat a dead horse,” he interrupts. “I know you’re just trying to look out for me because you have this weird sense of obligation toward me or something, but you’re off the hook. I meant what I said on my birthday, none of that has changed just because I don’t have anyone else to hang out with right now.”

“Steve, that’s not fair…” Nancy shakes her head, frown deepening.

“Not fair?” He nearly shouts, then realizes they’re still surrounded by a bunch of churchgoers and lowers his voice. “You think _I’m_ not being fair? Nancy, you called what we had bullshit, you called _me_ bullshit, and then you ran off with Jonathan the first chance you got. I was in love with you and you broke my heart. And you _still_ refuse to take responsibility for it. Be honest with me, Nance, how exactly would you respond differently?” She at least has the decency to look guilty this time, like maybe what he’d said before and what he’s said now are finally starting to get through to her; but she doesn’t get a chance to respond before Mrs. Wheeler is calling her name from the parking lot.

“Coming!” she calls to her mom, waving, and then looks back at him for just a moment. “I’m sorry, I have to go. Can we please talk tomorrow at school?”  
“I don’t have anything else to say.” Steve responds, and she frowns again.

“But I do,” she says.

“Fine,” he nods, because he really just doesn’t know what else to say.

“See you tomorrow,” she nods back and then hurries to meet her family at the car. He scolds himself internally for starting all of this back up as he watches her walk away. It’s been a rough week, and he’s not prepared to deal with this on top of everything else, but he just had to go opening up this particular can of worms.

He doesn’t have time to think too much about it, though, as he promised Mrs. Hargrove that he’d watch Max for the afternoon, so he shoves that to the back of his already crowded thoughts and goes in search of the redhead.

-

He doesn’t end up talking to Nancy on Monday. Jonathan meets him at their usual table for lunch and informs him that she’d come down with the stomach flu the night before. He’s never been grateful for the existence of the stomach flu but he certainly is that day. Even more so when it keeps her at home on Tuesday as well.

On Tuesday night Steve goes to the arcade with the Party. He’s relieved to see that Eleven and Max seem to be back to normal again when Hopper drops Eleven off and Max immediately runs up to her and starts talking her ear off, Eleven smiling and nodding along.

“Steve,” Hopper calls from the driver’s seat of his truck as all the kids hurry inside.

“What’s up?” Steve asks, stepping over to the passenger side window and leaning against it.

“I need to go up to Indianapolis tomorrow,” Hopper says, pulling the cigarette from behind his ear and placing it between his lips. “Would you be able to keep an eye on Eleven after school? I don’t really want her staying at home alone all day.”

“Sure,” Steve nods, curiosity piqued. “Why Indianapolis?”

“Personal business,” Hopper shrugs. “I’m not really sure when I’ll be back, but it shouldn’t be too late.”

“Okay,” Steve nods again. “I told Mrs. Hargrove that I’d watch Max after school too, so if you need to get ahold of us we’ll be at the Hargroves.”

“Sounds good,” Hopper nods. “Thanks.”

“See you.” Steve steps back from the truck and waves as Hopper drives away. He wonders briefly what kind of personal business Hopper could have in Indianapolis, but brushes it off pretty quickly. There’s a lot he doesn’t know about Hopper. Hell, he only found out a couple months ago that Hopper had a daughter who passed away several years ago.

So he doesn’t think much more of it, heading into the arcade and trying not to think about how much he wishes Billy were here to watch him fail miserably at Vanguard.

-

Billy’s just finishing up the last load of dishes following the lunch rush when Mel yells for him through the window.

“Someone’s here to see you!” She calls and Billy steps over to the window to take a look. His heart jumps into his throat when he catches a glimpse of Chief Hopper standing at the counter, looking around the diner with vague disinterest. What the fuck is he doing here? Whatever he did to his father, it must’ve been really bad if the Chief’s come all the way from Hawkins to find him.

“Fuck...” Billy swears under his breath, and Mel just looks at him expectantly. He considers making a break for it, the back door isn’t far and he could easily sneak out without anyone batting an eye. But if the Chief knows where to find him at work, he probably knows where he’s staying, too.

“Yeah, okay. Send him through.” He finally says, figuring there’s no way but through it at this point.

He walks back over to the sink and stacks a few more plates into the drying racks, glancing over his shoulder when he hears the kitchen door swing open. The Chief looks even less interested in the kitchen, but there’s something like relief etched into his features when his eyes land on Billy. He’s not really sure what to make of that.

“How the hell did you find me?” Billy asks, drying his hands off on the towel at his waist and flipping it up onto his shoulder as he turns around fully, leaning back against the sink. He’s trying his damndest to give off a vibe that says “Don’t fuck with me” but he’s not sure if he’s succeeding.

“Let’s just say it’s one of my many skills as a police officer,” the Chief shrugs.

“You here to arrest me, then?” Billy responds, jaw clicking quietly as he clenches it.

“No, Billy,” the Chief shakes his head, and there’s this look on his face that’s closer to sympathy than outright pity, but it makes something uncomfortable squirm under Billy’s skin.

“Then what do you want?” He folds his arms over his chest and holds his chin up a bit higher, defiant.

“Your dad had a stroke,” is the response. “Whatever happened between you two that night, it’s not what landed him in the hospital. It wasn’t your fault.” He definitely wasn’t expecting that. There’s a myriad of emotions stacking up against each other in his chest. Confusion, worry, fear, frustration, and then at the very bottom the tiniest amount of relief. He knows the Chief is probably right, that his father’s stroke wasn’t his fault, but that shit can be triggered by stress and Billy knows he contributes to a fair amount of his father’s stress, so he’s not convinced it’s got absolutely nothing to do with him. But at least being an incurable fuck-up to the point of giving your father a stroke isn’t something you can get arrested for. It means he can go back to Hawkins.

“Is he okay?” he asks, and he hates how much his voice is shaking, betraying every bit of bravado he’s been relying on to get him through this interaction.

“He’s fine,” the Chief nods. “He’s on the mend. The doctors expect him to make a full recovery.” It’s frustrating how much more relieved Billy feels at that, like he actually wants the bastard to live. He never in a million years would have expected to be relieved by that.

“So…” He looks away, distracted momentarily as one of the waitresses comes in from her smoke break. “Hey, Tris, can I bum a smoke?”  
“Sure,” she nods, reaching into the pack tucked into her bra for a cigarette and holding it out to him. He doesn’t say anything to the Chief, just smiles at Tris as he accepts the cigarette and then glances back at him, gesturing with his head in the direction of the door. The Chief follows him out, pulling out a cigarette for himself as well as a lighter. They take turns lighting up and then stand a good two feet away from each other while they take their first couple of drags in silence.

“So you still haven’t really answered my question,” Billy’s the first one to break the silence, smoke billowing out of his mouth and nose as he speaks, dropping the cigarette to his side to ash it. “Why are you here?”  
“Max found a letter of acceptance from Berkeley in the mail a few days ago, for you,” the Chief says, and there’s a lump in Billy’s throat again. “And she found the notices for your scholarships under your bed.” There’s a momentary wave of anger that overtakes the feeling of total relief at hearing he got into Berkeley. What the fuck was Max doing in his stuff? Just cause he isn’t there doesn’t mean all of his stuff is fair game now. But that subsides pretty quickly when he realizes what it actually means; that Max cared enough to snoop, and to seek help in finding Billy so she could help him. Not to mention: He got in. Berkeley said yes.

“It looks like you’ve got maybe one or two more days of absences before the school won’t let you graduate.” The Chief continues. “And I’m sure you know neither Berkeley or those scholarships are likely to wait around for you to finish a fifth year of high school.”  
“So she asked you to find me?” Billy asks, because he knows what the Chief is saying about school matters, but he’s a bit distracted by the revelation that someone back in Hawkins actually cares about his well-being.

“Yeah,” the Chief nods, dropping the butt of his cigarette and crushing it with his foot. “It’s time to go home, Billy.” And Billy doesn’t reflexively respond with “It’s not home” like he normally would. Hawkins has never been his home, and he always felt a bit offended by the implication that it was. But hearing the Chief call it his home doesn’t sound nearly as bad in this moment. In fact, it kind of sounds _right_ somehow.

Sure, Hawkins is an actual shithole, but it’s got Max, who apparently cares about him enough to risk his wrath in order to help him. She’s the closest thing to family he’s ever had, and he thinks maybe that’s worth something.

Hawkins has Steve, too.

The thought of seeing Steve again unfurls something warm in his chest that makes his cheeks flush with embarrassment as he glances over at the Chief. He’s watching Billy for a response but seems unphased despite the way Billy’s heart has kicked up in his chest at the thought of Steve. He has a fleeting and stupid thought to ask the Chief about Steve. How has he been over the last week? Has he missed him at all?

He doesn’t ask, though. He does his best to reign in those feelings and focus on the conversation instead. Neil is going to be okay and it’s not his fault. He can go home, and he can still graduate, and Berkeley said yes. Things can go back to how they were. No, not how they were, better. He’s being given a second chance to do it right.

“Is my father home?” He finds himself asking.

“He comes home tomorrow,” the Chief answers. Billy nods, looking away and lifting the forgotten cigarette to his mouth and taking a long drag. It’s scary, the thought of facing his father again, but he feels reluctantly hopeful about it. Like maybe the stroke will force Neil to ease up a little, and it won’t be so bad. He knows it’s probably just wishful thinking, but it bolsters his resolve; which is to go home.

“Okay,” he says at length.

“Yeah?” the Chief doesn’t smile when Billy looks back over at him, but it’s a near thing. There’s definitely relief on his face.

“I have to finish out my shift,” Billy nods again. “But yeah, I’ll head home after that.”

“Good,” the Chief also nods, clapping a hand on Billy’s shoulder, which startles him to the point of nearly dropping his cigarette. He’s not used to such abrupt contact that isn’t meant to leave behind a few bruises. The Chief seems to recognize his mistake, moving his hand away and frowning a bit in apology. That makes Billy feel kind of vulnerable, which is upsetting in its own way, and he stands up a bit straighter, trying to regain some semblance of bravado.

“When’s your shift over?” The Chief asks. “I’ll wait for you.”  
“You don’t have to-” Billy starts.

“I do,” the Chief says, sighing. “I promised Max I’d bring you back, so I intend to do just that.” Billy lets himself smile a bit at that, enjoying the thought of Max making the Chief of all people promise her things for Billy’s sake.

“Okay,” Billy responds. “I get done at four.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright.
> 
> I'm pretty sure I jinxed myself last week by saying I'd update within a few days, so I'm not doing that again. I'll update when I do. ;)
> 
> This chapter felt ~impossible~ to get right. I'm still not super confident about it, if I'm being honest, but hopefully I communicated what I intended to.
> 
> Your thoughts, as always, are greatly appreciated! Every single comment you guys leave makes me impossibly happy. :) :)
> 
> PS - Anyone else ready for these dumb boys to be happy already? I'm trying to pace myself here, but I'm growing very impatient myself. Hopefully that's not coming across too much in my writing. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally update time again!
> 
> I definitely lost motivation there for a while and then I also had a medical emergency come up which kind of took up all of my attention. So, sorry for it being literally two weeks since my last update.
> 
> I'm already halfway through writing the next chapter, so hopefully I'll have that one posted up very soon.
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Steve hears the click of the lock on the front door turning and assumes it’s Mrs. Hargrove coming home after spending the evening peddling makeup to the other moms in the neighborhood. So when the door opens it takes him a minute to glance away from the TV and up at the person standing there, but his heart absolutely plummets into his bladder when he does.

Max shouts “Billy!” and clambors up from where she’d been sprawled out on the floor in front of the couch with Eleven, and for a second Steve thinks she’s going to hug the older boy, but she stops short, leaving a couple of feet between them.

“Where the fuck have you been?” she asks, stuffing her hands into her pockets.

“Glad to see my influence hasn’t worn off yet,” Billy responds teasingly, a smirk on his face, and Max rolls her eyes.

Steve’s heart stutters where it’s relocated to his abdomen when Billy’s eyes land on him next. He can’t help noticing the blueish green bruise across the left side of his jaw. It looks too fresh to be more than a week old, which means wherever Billy was, he found himself a fight. He glances down at Eleven, who is staring up at Billy silently from the floor. She promised him that Billy was safe. Had she been lying this whole time?

Aside from that, Billy looks the exactly the same, albeit a little worn down and less confident than usual. The expression on his face is strange when Steve looks back up at him, like a mixture of anger and nervousness, and he’s not altogether sure what to make of that. Nor does he know how to process the fact that Billy’s actually back and standing just a few feet away from him. There are so many questions piling up in his head, and there’s this ugly thing in the back of it that he thinks might be his own anger. But more pressing is the swelling relief inside of him as his eyes scan Billy’s face.

“Where the fuck have you been?” He parrots Max’s question, realizing that the silence has stretched out too long between them and they kind of have an audience.

“Miss me, Harrington?” Billy replies, smirking again. Steve thinks briefly that he hates him. It’s not true of course, but he clings to it. Because the answer to Billy’s question is _yes, of course I fucking missed you. I thought you were gone for good. I thought you’d left like everyone else._ He’s spent the past week trying to convince himself to write Billy off as just another person going through the revolving door that is his life, and he likes to think he was getting pretty damn close to succeeding; but now Billy is here again. He came back. And Steve wants to yell at him. He wants to demand that Billy tell him where he’s been, wants to lay into him with all the reasons that he’s a goddamn idiot. But he also just really wants to wrap his arms around him and hold him as close as possible and beg him not to leave again. Which is nothing short of terrifying.

“Just…glad you’re home.” he croaks out instead, aiming for nonchalant, and then tacks on - “Max was really worried.” Max’s mouth falls open as she glares at Steve, and Billy’s giving him this look like he knows he’s full of shit. Normally Steve would grin or something, let on that he knows he’s full of shit too, but he feels like he might crack open any moment and he’s afraid of letting it show. He stays planted on the couch, despite how badly he wants to stand up and take a step or two closer to Billy, maybe reach out and touch him, make sure he’s actually here and he’s not just dreaming.

“Mom should be home soon,” Max pipes up after another moment of silence passes. “She’ll be so relieved to see you.”

“Ah, I doubt that,” Billy rolls his eyes, tearing his gaze away from Steve to look back at Max.

“Seriously,” Max responds. “She’s been worried sick, and she’s been at the hospital with Neil as much as possible. He’s coming home tomorrow, y’know?”

“Yeah, the Chief mentioned that,” Billy’s whole body tenses as he nods, and he glances over at Eleven. “Speaking of which, Jane, the Chief’s outside waiting. I told him I’d send you out.” That must have been where Hopper went this afternoon, to find Billy in Indianapolis. A different kind of anger flares inside of Steve at that. Why didn’t Hopper tell him that’s where he was going?

Eleven climbs up from the floor and walks over to them, giving Max a short hug before turning to Billy. She looks up at him, big eyes boring into him like they do everyone, and Billy looks surprisingly resigned to it.

“Welcome home, Billy.” She says, quiet and soft.

“Thanks,” he responds, equally as soft, and smiles, the first genuine smile that he’s offered that night. He looks only a little thrown when she wraps both arms around his waist and squeezes, recovering pretty quickly to return the embrace. She pulls away and slips on her shoes by the door, waving at all of them once before slipping outside. And then it’s just the three of them. Steve clears his throat, looking down at his lap briefly as he tries to think of what to say, and then stands up.

“I better go, too, I guess…” he says, running his hands down the legs of his jeans to straighten them out and looking back up to meet Billy’s gaze once again. He wishes Billy would say something, absolutely anything, to break this awkward wall of tension that’s sitting between them, but Billy’s always been a stubborn ass, especially when other people are around, so of course he doesn’t say a damn thing. Steve will have to wait until it’s just the two of them to have a real conversation about any of this. Perhaps it’s for the best, anyway. Steve isn’t sure he’d be able to say much without giving away how he actually feels right now. He tells himself this is enough for now. Billy is home, he’s safe, and they’ll have the chance to talk another time.

“Will you be at school tomorrow?” He asks as he gathers his things from the coffee table and heads for the front door.

“Yeah,” Billy nods, turning to face him at the door. Max glances back and forth between the two of them a couple of times and then says:

“I need a snack. You must be hungry, too, Billy? I’ll make us something.” And disappears into the kitchen, leaving Billy and Steve alone by the front door. The A-Team is still playing on the TV, Hannibal and Bosco have found themselves in some kind of bar fight and the background noise of punches landing and glass shattering seems to perfectly mirror Steve’s insides as he watches Billy.

“I-” he starts.

“I’m real tired, man,” Billy interrupts, looking away for a second, and when he looks back he doesn’t look directly at Steve. “I’ll see you later.”

“Oh,” there’s an iron fist gripping at Steve’s stomach as he nods and turns to open the door. “Yeah, sure. I’ll, uh, see you at school.” Billy steps a little closer, grabbing the side of the door and opening it a little wider for Steve to step through. Steve glances over his shoulder at Billy once he’s out on the porch, but the other boy doesn’t say anything else before he shuts the door behind him.

He stands there for several minutes, heart pounding its way up from his abdomen and into his throat, and he thinks he’s going to be sick. He’s spent the past week and a half worrying about Billy, missing him and doing a piss poor job of holding himself together in his absence; wishing Billy would come home, thinking that would fix everything. But Billy’s home now and it all feels worse somehow.

He tries to reason with his anxiety as he makes his way to his car, telling himself that everything is fine. Billy’s probably just tired and still processing everything. Steve would likely need space too, if he were in Billy’s shoes. And that thing about wanting to hold Billy and tell him never to pull this shit and leave again? That’s probably just the sleep deprivation talking, or something. It doesn’t have to mean anything, right?

Telling himself all of that doesn’t stop his heart from hurting, though, or that fist from twisting up his insides as he drives home.

He sleeps on the couch again, like he’s been doing since Billy left, like he does every time his anxiety won’t let him get any sleep in his own bed. He wears Billy’s shirt, thinking about the familiar smell of cigarettes as Billy stepped in real close to take the door from Steve’s hand. He tries to focus on the fact that Billy is home, safe and sound, and tries not to focus on how good he’d looked in his leather jacket and grease-stained, white t-shirt.

-

Billy’s Camaro is in the school parking lot when Steve arrives five minutes early for first period, but Billy’s nowhere in sight. He considers going to Billy’s first class, to make sure he’s really there and last night hadn’t been some kind of cruel dream, but decides against it. How exactly would he explain just walking into a class that isn’t his and that he’s never stepped foot in before? Especially when everyone knows Billy’s been absent for the last week and this is his first day back.

Nancy is waiting by his locker when he reaches it, textbook tucked between folded arms against her chest. She’s looking a little worse for wear in a sweatshirt and leggings, her hair pulled back in a messy, greasy half-ponytail. That flu must’ve been a real bitch.

“Billy’s back?” she says immediately as he turns to his locker and spins the dial on the lock.

“Yeah,” he nods. “Got back last night.”

“So you’ve seen him?” she asks. “Where was he this whole time?”

“I don’t know,” he answers, shoving a few books into his locker before slamming it shut and turning to look at her again. “He didn’t say. But apparently Hopper went and found him.”

“Did Hopper say-”

“I know about as much you do, Nance,” He cuts her off, sighing in exasperation. “I didn’t see Hopper, I don’t know where Billy was, hell I don’t even know where he is now.” Her mouth snaps shut at that, taking a step back from him, and okay he feels a little guilty for snapping at her. He’s about to apologize when she speaks again:

“Listen,” she says, voice soft so as not to be overheard by their fellow classmates still milling about the hallway. “I still want to talk, about what you said on Sunday.”

“I really don’t have anything else to say,” Steve shrugs, feeling way too raw to revisit this conversation right now.

“I know,” she nods, and then continues because she clearly isn’t going to drop it for later. “But you were right. What I did wasn’t fair, and I should have apologized. I just got so caught up in feeling guilty about Barb, and I think I wanted to shift some of the guilt I felt about her onto you because I didn’t know what else to do with it. That wasn’t fair of me, and I’m sorry.”

“That’s not really what I’m talking about, Nance,” he responds, all of the feelings he’s been repressing resurfacing in his stomach. “I get that you were upset and all that. But you basically told me you never actually loved me. I mean, what was that about? We were together for a year. Were you really lying to me that whole time?”

“I don’t know,” she answers and it stings a little, but not nearly as much as it did several months ago. “I don’t think I was lying to you, Steve, when I said I loved you. I think I just really wanted us to work, I wanted to love you like that. You’re a good guy-“ he scoffs at that -“No, seriously. I know that sounds like I’m trying to let you down easy or something. But you’re one of the best guys I know, any girl would be beyond lucky to have you. I just think we’re too different, and we want different things.”

“You don’t really know what I want,” now he’s just being defensive, but to be fair he wasn’t really prepared to have this conversation right now, in front of his locker and half the school. His stomach is churning, and he’s got a million other things on his mind.

“Do you?” she asks, a challenge in her tone. Steve opens his mouth, another useless defense on the tip of his tongue, but closes it again when he sees the earnestness in her expression. Before he can formulate a response, Jonathan approaches from his own locker, backpack slung over his shoulder.

“I heard Billy’s back?” He asks, and Nancy gives a minute shake of her head in response.

“I have to go to class,” Steve says, jumping at the opportunity to leave in lieu of answering either of their questions. He swings his own backpack over his shoulder and walks away before they can say anything else. The sick feeling in his gut doesn’t go away even as he settles into his desk and stares out the window as the teacher starts taking roll call. What exactly did Nancy mean by asking him if he knew what he wanted? Why did she think it was any of her business? And why did it bother him so much? But most importantly, why did he genuinely have no answer to that?

He doesn’t have any classes with Billy before lunch, he doesn’t see him in the hallways between classes, and when he checks the parking lot during lunch, the Camaro is gone. He spends lunch in his own car, staring up at the ceiling and trying to answer Nancy’s question. _What do I want?_

-

Billy didn’t offer to be at the house when Susan brought Neil home from the hospital, but she’d asked him to be there over breakfast this morning, and he couldn’t come up with a good enough excuse not to. So she called both schools and told them he and Max would need to be excused from their afternoon classes. It worked out in the end, because it meant he didn’t have to see Steve at school, and that was its own sort of blessing.

During his drive back to Hawkins, he’d made a deal with himself to get through the last few weeks of school unscathed. That meant doing everything according to what his father expected of him. Focus on school, take care of Max, and don’t do anything to piss Neil off. He was going to get through this by the skin of his teeth if he had to. That also meant no more Steve Harrington. He was a distraction that Billy couldn’t afford anymore.

Last night had been more difficult than he’d anticipated. When he saw Steve sitting there on his couch in sweats, hair tucked under a baseball cap and heavy bags under his eyes that said he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in days, all he wanted was to wrap him up in a blanket, or better yet his own arms, and ask him what was wrong so he could try to fix it. But he couldn’t do any of that. Firstly because that’s not the kind of thing they did with each other, but also because he promised himself that he wasn’t going to let Steve Harrington under his skin anymore. The detox had already begun, and he couldn’t turn back now.

Max doesn’t say much as they drive home. She just picks at her fingernails and stares out the window, humming along to the music that’s playing almost too softly to be heard over the engine of the car. It’s somewhat disconcerting how normal it is, like the last week didn’t even happen. Billy makes them lunch while she plays solitaire at the kitchen table, and they eat together in relative silence, the ticking of the clock on the kitchen wall the only sound in the room; a constant reminder that any moment now Susan will be coming home with Neil in tow.

Billy’s not ready to see his father again. He becomes more and more aware of that with each passing second, but there’s nothing he can do about it. He’s not entirely sure what to expect. He knows Neil had a stroke, but Susan had said he would be back to normal in no time, so Billy could only assume that meant he was in for some shit. Neil had never been the forgive-and-forget type.

It’s just after two and he and Max are on their fifth round of gin rummy when the front door opens and Susan calls out “Max! Billy!” from the living room. Billy’s entire body tenses, bile rising up into his throat, and it feels like every cell in his body is buzzing as he gets up from the table and follows Max into the living room. Susan is standing behind Neil, who is in a wheelchair, but aside from that he looks no worse for wear.

“Billy, Maxine,” Neil regards them both with the same even tone that he always uses. “Susan tells me you’ve been super helpful, held down the fort while I was a the hospital. Thank you.” Billy’s thrown by that. He wasn’t sure if Susan told Neil he’d been gone this whole time, but he definitely wasn’t expecting her to outright lie about it.

“You’re welcome, sir,” he manages to get out, voice shaking a little as he meets his father’s eyes. Neil’s expression is all too familiar to him, eerily blank and difficult to read, the kind of expression that precedes something bad. Billy glances down a the the wheelchair, wondering if, or rather hoping that, it means his father isn’t in peak physical condition; he may have a few days still of escape from the physical repercussions that he knows are coming.

“Are you hungry, darling?” Susan asks Neil, breaking the silence that’s fallen over the room, and Billy flinches at the sudden sound. He’s way too wound up, heart pounding in his ears as he sees rather than hears Neil respond in the affirmative. Susan wheels Neil into the kitchen and up to the table, where he engages a less-than-enthusiastic Max in a round of gin rummy. Billy sits down beside Max and watches as Neil picks up the deck and tries to shuffle, a tremor in his left hand making it impossible. Max holds out a hand toward the deck, and Neil hands it over, clearly frustrated as he pulls back his left hand and rubs at it with his right. Billy doesn’t really process any of the conversation between them while Max shuffles and deals out each hand. That is, until he hears Max says Steve’s name.

“He’s actually better at this than Billy,” Max is saying, picking up a card from the deck and examining it with her cards for a second before discarding it.

“Has he been around a lot, then?” Neil asks, glancing at Billy briefly as he draws a card and then focussing back on his hand.

“Not…” Max seems to realize her mistake quickly enough to backtrack. “A lot. Just a couple of times. I told you he’s like Dustin’s big brother, right? So he hangs out with all of us quite a bit.” Billy doesn’t know how much she knows about the fight they had the night of Neil’s stroke, but she does know that Susan lied about Billy being gone. She’s a pretty convincing liar when she wants to be, but Neil’s lips purse up in that way that says he’s not necessarily buying it. Perfect. The last thing Billy needs is for his father to know he lost his shit over Neil implying Steve was like him, and then thinking Steve was around all the time the instant Neil was out of the house for a week. He hasn’t even done anything, but he’s definitely going to pay for it regardless.

To Billy’s relief, Neil changes the subject and Max starts talking about her upcoming field trip. Billy has to fight to keep from mentally checking out at that point, because he knows Neil could demand his attention again at any moment and he’s in full-on damage control at this point. So he listens to them make idle chatter until Susan brings a bowl of soup over for Neil, and he pretends not to notice the way his father’s left hand trembles as he lifts the spoon to his mouth. Several spoonfuls end up on his shirt before he finally throws the spoon into the bowl and yells:

“Make me something I can actually eat!” Max startles beside Billy, and Susan’s eyes go wide at the outburst. Billy’s pulse quickens, vision tunneling as panic stirs beneath his skin, and he knows he’s got to get out of here somehow. He can’t do this, he’s going to lose it, and he absolutely cannot go off on his father right now.

“I’m sorry,” she says and takes the bowl away as quickly as possible, setting it in the sink before going to the fridge.

Neil’s face is bright red, either with embarrassment or anger, Billy can’t be sure. He puffs out his chest and looks back down at the game that had been momentarily abandoned.

“Your turn.” He says to Max, tone even again, and Max quickly draws a card and considers it.

“I just remembered, I uh, I have a study session at the library.” Billy interrupts the silence that’s fallen over the room. Neil raises an eyebrow at him, lips pursed.

“With whom?” He asks. _With Steve?_ Is what he’s really asking.

“A couple kids from class,” Billy answers. “Tommy H., his girl Carol, a couple others. I can stay home though, if you want. I just have this really big Physics test on Friday…”

“School is important,” Neil nods. “You may go. Just remember, curfew is still nine.”

“Yes, sir,” Billy stands up, pointedly ignoring Max’s look of betrayal. “I’m glad your home, sir. We’ve missed you.” Saying it makes him sick to his stomach, but it’s nothing new. Neil just nods in acknowledgment and turns his attention back to the game. Billy goes to his room and closes the door, leaning back against it as he breathes a sigh of relief. He gives himself a once-over in the mirror, teasing his hair for a second and spraying on some more cologne, and then gathers his textbooks and heads back out.

“Thanks again,” he calls over his shoulder as he makes his way to the door. He has no real plan for where he’s actually going as he gets into his car and starts it up. It’s a Wednesday afternoon, so there’s not much going on around a town like Hawkins, but he figures even just driving around town for a couple of hours beats being in that house. So he peels out onto the road, and turns up his music as loud as possible, letting his mind wander to some alternate reality where none of his problems exist.

-

“Earth to Steve?” Dustin waves a hand in Steve’s face and he realizes belatedly that he’s been staring across the diner at Billy, cuddled up real close with Jill Seabrooke in a booth they’re sharing with Tommy H. and Carol.

It’s been nearly two weeks since Billy came back, and he’s been avoiding Steve like the goddamn plague ever since. Steve’s tried talking to him a couple of times, but Billy always finds a way to escape interaction. He thought he missed Billy for those ten days that he was gone, apparently staying at a motel in Indianapolis, as Hopper had explained, but that pales in comparison to how it feels having Billy so close yet completely inaccessible. It’s like the last several months never even happened, like they were never friends at all.

The first few days he’d tried not to take it personally. Billy was dealing with a lot of things, and Steve could understand just needing some space. But after the first week, it became apparent that Billy was purposefully _avoiding_ him, and that definitely felt personal. What was so wrong with Steve that Billy not only decided they couldn’t be friends anymore, but they couldn’t even be acquaintances?

“What?” His cheeks flush as he refocuses on Dustin. 

“You okay, man?” Dustin asks, glancing from Steve over to the booth of high schoolers and then back.

“Yeah?” Steve shakes his head. “Yeah, sorry.”

“Billy’s been kind of weird since he got back, hasn’t he?” Dustin asks.

“What do you mean?” Steve feigns ignorance.

“I mean, you guys were friends, right?” Dustin says, picking up a French fry and swirling it in his milkshake. “He used to hang out with us sometimes, but I haven’t seen him once at the arcade since he got back. He dropped off Max at the Wheelers on Saturday and didn’t even come in to say hi or anything.”

“I don’t know,” Steve shrugs. “He’s busy, man. His dad just got out of the hospital.”

“I bet it’s cause he’s got a girlfriend now.” Dustin grins conspiratorially and something ugly and familiar grips at Steve’s insides. It’s the same feeling he had whenever he saw Nancy talking to Jonathan back when they were dating. He takes a bite of his burger to distract himself. It doesn’t really work.

“No way, man,” he says around a mouthful.

“Yeah, I bet that’s it.” Dustin ignores him. “Max said she’s come over to the house a few times.” Steve doesn’t have anything to say to that. He hates the thought of Billy being so sweet on someone that he brings her around to his house. He’s always been so guarded about his home life, it took Steve months to see the inside of his house; what makes Jill Seabrooke so fucking special?

“Sure, maybe that’s it.” Steve finally says, trying to sound less bothered than he is. Dustin watches him quietly, dipping another fry into his shake and then chomping down on it.

“Are you jealous?” Dustin asks, a sly grin forming on his lips again.

“Of Jill?” Steve all but shrieks, feeling his cheeks heat up.

“Of Billy,” Dustin answers, squinting at Steve in confusion. “Cause he’s got a girlfriend and you don’t…Why would you be jealous of Jill?”

“I’m not,” Steve’s brain goes into overdrive, trying to figure out how to backpedal. “I wouldn’t be. That’s…” He doesn’t finish the sentence, not having anything to actually tack onto the end of it, and an awkward silence falls between them. Dustin looks perplexed, taking a few sips of his milkshake and clearly trying to work something out in his head. Steve’s heart is pounding in anticipation of what comes next. There’s no way this conversation ends well if he can’t sidestep this.

“I have an uncle who’s gay, you know?” Dustin says at length, voice pitched low so as not to be overheard, and that does nothing to calm Steve’s nerves. _Gay?_ No, that’s not what this is. Steve’s not _gay_ . He likes girls, he’s always liked girls. So maybe he’s thought about kissing or fooling around with another boy on occasion, but he’s not _gay_. That’s not what this is.

“Good for your uncle?” Steve shoots for ignorant once again.

“He’s really cool,” Dustin says, and it’s so _pointed_ , like he’s trying to make sure Steve really hears what he’s saying. “His partner is really cool, too.”

“Cool,” Steve nods a couple of times, swallowing hard around the sudden lump in his throat. “That’s great, man.”

“We don’t really like to tell people about him,” Dustin continues, expression serious. “Mom says it could be dangerous for him, if people knew. So we don’t talk about it. But he’s one of the coolest people I know, and I think it’s bullshit that people treat him differently for something like that.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Steve asks.

“I don’t know,” Dustin shrugs. “Guess I just…wanted you to know.”

“I’m not gay,” Steve says, and it feels weird to say the words out loud. He feels a little bit like he’s lying as he glances back over at Billy, but he’s _not_ lying. He doesn’t know what he would categorize himself as, but gay isn’t quite right.

“Okay,” Dustin nods.

“Seriously, man,” Steve insists.

“Okay,” Dustin nods again. “I didn’t say you were.”

They sit in silence for another minute or two, Steve’s appetite having flown out the window, and Dustin slurps up the last of his milkshake.

“Prom is coming up,” Dustin breaks the silence first. “You planning on going?”

“Eh, I don’t know…” Steve makes a face. “I’m not sure I’m really into it anymore.”

“You should,” Dustin says. “You only get one prom, man. You’re way more likely to regret not going than you are to regret going. That’s what my mom always says about shit like that, anyway.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Steve chuckles at that. “Do you think it’d be weird to go stag?”

“No way,” Dustin shakes his head, grinning again. “If you don’t have a date, you get to dance with as many different girls as you want.” Steve nods, smiling back, and then smacks Dustin’s hand away when the younger boy tries to steal a french fry from his plate. They spend another ten minutes or so talking about prom and what Steve should wear, and Steve is sufficiently distracted when they leave, so he doesn’t notice the way Billy moves out of Jill’s space as soon as he and Dustin exit the diner, or the way Billy’s eyes follow his every move as they leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm at that point in writing this where I'm literally second guessing every little thing, so it feels a bit like pulling teeth trying to write at the moment.
> 
> I'm in desperate need of some encouragement to push through, so motivation in the form of comments is greatly appreciated! :)
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who's still following along despite my erratic updates. And many, many thanks to all of you who have left lovely comments and kudos so far!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I know it's been a week since I said the last update was coming soon but it's nearly 3k longer than my usual updates, so maybe that'll make up for it a little? ;)
> 
> Also - Can I just say HOLY SHIT how have I written 70k of this?

Billy lays on the horn as he pulls up to the arcade, lips quirking up in amusement when a small group of kids standing outside jump and turn to stare at him. They can’t be older than ten, so they look more terrified than annoyed. He just keeps his hands over the horn, barely able to hear it over the sound of the music that’s blasting out of his speakers, and smirks at them unapologetically.

It’s a solid minute before Max comes out, and she looks pretty pissed off, flipping him off and going around to the trunk to stow her skateboard before climbing into the passenger seat.

“Why are you such an ass?” She asks, slamming the door shut and buckling her seatbelt with way more force than is necessary.

“What’s got your pants in a bunch?” Billy bites back, and the glare he receives is enough to keep him from telling her off when she reaches over and turns the music down.

“You know, if I knew this is how you were going to be when you came home, I would’ve told Hop to leave you to rot in that damn diner.” She says, and Ouch, that stings. Billy was not expecting that at all. He has no clue what to say in response. He’s been bending over backwards to make sure he’s taking care of Max like his dad and Susan expect him to, and he thought he’d been doing a pretty damn good job of it. But this is the fucking thanks he gets? Now _he’s_ pissed. He slams into drive and peels out of the parking lot, glaring at the road ahead of him.

They don’t say anything to each other for the rest of the drive home, and Max goes straight to her room and slams her door when they get there. Tuesday’s are one of several physical therapy days for Neil, so both he and Susan are gone for at least another hour or two, and Billy’s beyond grateful for that. He can’t deal with Neil on top of whatever the fuck is up Max’s ass.

Neil’s still constrained to a wheelchair most of the time, and he’s got a long way to go still before he’ll have full mobility again. He’s been forced to rely on all of them for daily things like getting to the bathroom and eating anything that isn’t finger food. Between that and Billy being on his best behavior, things at the Hargrove house have been almost _normal_ for the past couple of weeks. True, there’s nothing necessarily normal about helping your dad onto the toilet at three o’clock in the morning or spoon feeding him dinner, but Billy prefers that to the alternative.

He throws together a couple of PB&J sandwiches for their dinner and goes to her room, rapping on the closed door several times until she shouts back “What?” Still pissed, it would seem.

“Come eat,” he says through the door. “And bring your English homework. Susan said you’ve got a big book report that I’m supposed to proofread.” He’s met with several beats of silence, and then the door is swinging open and she’s glaring up at him.

“What is your problem?” He asks, following her back into the kitchen.

“What’s _yours_?” She quips, throwing a folder down on the kitchen table as she takes a seat in front of one of the sandwiches. Billy rolls his eyes and goes to the pantry, pulling out a bag of pretzels.

“I can’t make it right if you don’t tell me what the problem is.” He says, trying to maintain some semblance of control even as his own irritation builds beneath the surface.

“Do you even realize how worried we all were when you went AWOL?” Max asks, voice shaking a bit in anger. Billy meets her gaze as he sets the pretzels down in front of her, defiant and equally frustrated.

“I never asked anyone to worry about me,” he responds, turning to the fridge to grab a couple of sodas.

“You’re full of shit.” She says. He slams the fridge shut and leans against it as he counts down from ten, drawing in long, deep breaths, trying his damnedest to keep his cool.

“I thought you were better,” she continues. “You’d _been_ so much better. What happened?”

“Nothing happened, Maxine.” Billy says, exhaling heavily and walking back over to the kitchen table. “I still take care of you, don’t I?”

“Sure, you drive me home from school, and you make us dinner, and you yell at me to do my homework,” she answers. “But it’s not the same.”

“What’s so different?” He asks.

“You’re angry again.” She says, and her words are like a punch to the gut. “And you don’t hang out with us anymore. You won’t even _talk_ to Steve.”

“I-“ he starts, the mention of Steve tugging painfully at his heart.

“He was so fucking worried about you, you know?” She cuts him off. “And he was here every single day while you were gone. He’s probably the only person in this goddamn town that actually gives a shit about you, aside from me. But you’ve completely blown him off, and you’ve blown me off, and we both deserve more than that from you.” Okay, now it’s more like a knife to the gut, twisting and twisting until the pain of it builds up into his throat. He can’t meet her eyes, so he stares down at his plate, and the knife twists just that tiny bit more at the sight of a handful of pretzels beside his sandwich. Even in her anger, she’s _still_ trying to take care of him. There’s pressure building behind his eyes, and he begs himself not to cry. She’s right. He’s been a complete ass, and here he was thinking he’d been doing pretty okay despite it all.

He can’t fix things with Steve, that’s not something he can change, but he can fix things with Max; he can at least try, anyway.

“You’re right,” he finally says, looking up to meet her wide, blue eyes. “I’ve been an ass, and I’m sorry. How can I make it up to you?” She just stares at him for a solid minute, mouth hanging open in surprise, clearly not expecting this response from him.

“You can…” she drags out the ‘can’, contemplating her answer.

“I can’t hang out with all of you again,” he cuts in.

“Why not?” She raises an eyebrow.

“I…” he considers his options here; should he tell her the truth or make something up? The guilt nags at him, telling him he should be honest for once; if he really wants to make this right, anyway.

“I can’t be friends with Steve anymore,” he admits. “I don’t know how much you heard of the fight between me and Neil right before his stroke, but basically he doesn’t want me hanging out with Steve.”

“What?” Max’s eyebrows furrow in irritation and confusion.

“You know Neil, he’s…” Billy makes a vague gesture with his hand. “Weird? Difficult? Particular? Take your pick. Either way, I really can’t get on his bad side right now. And being friends with Steve, that puts me on his bad side.” Max sits back in her chair, chewing on her bottom lip as she considers this.

“That’s bullshit.” She says.

“Tell me about it,” Billy shrugs. “But that’s Neil. Please tell me you understand? I’m going to try to be better, I promise, but things can’t be how they were.” She’s frustrated, he can tell by the way she’s still chewing on her lip and glaring at her plate, but she nods a couple of times and then meets his eyes again.

“Okay.” She says decidedly.

“Thanks, kiddo.” He offers a very small smile, reaching out and ruffling her hair. She bats his hand away, making a face at him, and tucks into her food. He picks up the folder with her book report in it and flips it open to read while he eats. They eat in relative silence, Billy only interrupting it every once in a while to make a comment on her report, and then Max helps him clean up the kitchen. Neil and Susan get home about an hour later, and Billy reheats some leftovers for them. They all sit down in the living room, Susan eating her dinner, and Billy helping Neil with his, while Max flips through channels until everyone can agree on something to watch.

It’s not perfect, and even with Neil’s physical limitations, his presence remains as oppressive as ever, but it’s their new normal and Billy knows for a fact that it could be much worse.

-

Joyce is sitting in her usual spot on the front steps of her house, cloud of smoke around her head, when Steve pulls up and parks beside Hopper’s truck. She waves in his direction and puts out her cigarette before standing up to make her way across the lawn. He’s a little late for their Thursday night dinners, but he’d volunteered to bring the food this time, so he has an excuse. He opens the passenger side door just as Joyce reaches the car, and doesn’t hesitate before piling her arms up with KFC bags.

“Thanks again for picking this up,” she says as she heads back toward the house. “Hop and I want to pay for at least some of it.”

“Nah, don’t worry about. “ Steve shakes his head, grabbing the last couple of bags and closing the door before following her. “Consider it a gift from dear old mom and pops.”

“I’m sure your parents don’t intend for you to feed a small village with their money.” Joyce scoffs.

“I don’t think they really care what I do with it,” Steve hurries to grab the door for her. Their met by a wall of noise as soon as it’s open, several kids talking loudly over each other in the middle of the living room, one of Jonathan’s records playing in the corner, and Hopper seems to be lecturing Lucas and Will about something. It’s chaotic, and loud, and so different from what Steve grew up with, yet so familiar and comforting. Warmth settles into his chest as he follows Joyce to the dining room table and begins laying out their spread.

Max breaks away from the group in the living room to offer assistance, so Steve puts her to work getting plates and silverware for the coleslaw.

“How are things at home, Max?” Joyce makes conversation as they work. Steve already has an idea what kind of answer she’s going to get, but he’s admittedly curious what Max will tell Joyce.

“Different,” Max shrugs, grabbing the paper plates out of the pantry and then going to the dishwasher to collect a handful of forks. “But okay, I guess.”

“How is Neil recovering?” Joyce asks.

“Mom keeps saying he’ll be back to normal in no time,” Max answers. “But I think she just keeps saying that because it’s what she wants. His mobility is still pretty limited.”

“Mmm,” Joyce hums in acknowledgement. “And how’s Billy doing?”

“Weird,” Max says, coming back into the dining room and laying the plates on the table. “Really weird.”

“Really?” Joyce looks at Steve then, and he’s been feigning neutrality but he can feel his cheeks flush when she speaks to him. “You should’ve invited him to dinner tonight or something, Steve. It can’t be easy, what he’s dealing with.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Steve replies, because normally he’d be a little more guarded about this whole thing but Joyce has always been pretty good at reading him and at this point he’s really just too tired to try putting up a front with her.

“Aren’t you guys friends?” Joyce raises an eyebrow.

“We were,” Steve nods. “We’re not anymore.”

“See what I mean?” Max says, shoving a fork into one of three tubs of coleslaw. “It’s kind of like it was before the new year.” Joyce falls silent as she seems to be considering that, going into the kitchen to grab two pitchers of lemonade out of the fridge.

“I miss having you around after school,” Max says to Steve after a beat, cheeks a little rosy as she gives him a small, sad smile. Steve wasn’t expecting that, but it makes him smile even as it leaves an ache in his chest.

“Me too,” he says, smiling back. Her smile turns a little less sad at that.

“I’m sorry Billy’s being so weird,” she adds. “I know you missed him as much as I did.”

“It’s okay,” Steve shrugs, feeling self-conscious again when Joyce comes back into the dining room; he doesn’t really want to have this conversation at all, but definitely not in front of other people. Max seems to pick up on that, dropping the conversation immediately in favor of going to tell the others dinner is ready.

The conversation he’d had earlier that week with Dustin has left him feeling all jumbled up inside over Billy, and he’s not really sure what to make of his feelings toward the other boy anymore. It’s true that he cares about Billy, way more than he ever should have, and it’s true that he’s always found Billy attractive in a way that most other guys probably don’t think about other guys; but he never really let himself consider what all of that might mean. It was one thing to think about fooling around with another guy, he could chalk that up to hormones or something; but actually being in love with another guy? That wasn’t something he ever considered possible. Until Dustin mentioned his uncle, and his uncle’s partner.

Suddenly Steve was faced with the reality that some guys did feel that way about other guys, and that it was very likely _he_ felt that way about _Billy_. The realization settled heavy over his chest as he lay in his bed one night, wearing Billy’s shirt and being hypnotized by the slow spin of his ceiling fan. The intensity and ache of that realization hasn’t really ebbed since. The reminder that Billy is quite literally ignoring him now only deepens it, and he grimaces as he pours himself a cup of lemonade.

“You okay?” Joyce asks, standing on the other side of the table, concern in her eyes.

“Yeah,” he lies, nodding once. “Just really pushed myself during PE today, still a little sore.” He stretches his free arm up, pretending to work out an ache in his joints that isn’t there. She looks unconvinced, but doesn’t have the chance to press any further as the noise from the living room floods into the dining room and everyone starts piling up plates with fried chicken and biscuits.

-

Susan is way too excited to take pictures of Billy with his prom date, Jill. It’s weird. Billy’s not used to Susan actually paying him any attention outside of checking in to make sure he’s taking care of Max. But she insisted on picking up a corsage for Billy to give Jill, and now she’s got them standing in the entryway, camera pointed at them as she counts down from three.

Billy never had any intention of going to prom, he hates shit like this; but then he started going out with Jill on occasion, to placate Neil. He felt guilty for doing it, because she seemed to be genuinely into him and he was definitely using her, so when she got all excited over prom he felt like the least he could do was offer to be her date. It turned out to be a pretty good move on his part, because Neil actually smiled the slightest bit when he overheard Billy talking to Susan about it, and asked for more details. It’s the closest Billy’s ever come to feeling like his father is actually _proud_ of him, and it’s strange how pleased that makes Billy. Like for once he’s doing right by his old man.

“Seriously, I think that’s enough pictures.” Billy waves a hand dismissively at Susan as she takes picture number fifty. Max is curled up on one end of the couch, while Neil sits on the other, and both of them are halfheartedly watching the whole thing transpire while the TV plays something on mute.

“Okay,” Susan smiles, finally setting the camera aside. “Okay. I’m sorry. Prom is just so exciting! I still remember my prom night. You’ll be glad to have these photos.” Billy doubts that, but he smiles anyway and thanks Susan before ushering Jill out of the house and to his Camaro.

“Sorry about all that,” Billy says as he turns the key in the ignition, the Camaro purring to life.

“It’s fine,” Jill smiles, buckling her seatbelt. “Your stepmom is really sweet.” He just nods, not having anything to respond with, and pulls out onto the street. Jill reaches over to turn up the radio, and Billy wonders briefly when she became so comfortable just doing shit like that.

The truth is, he likes Jill. Not in the ways he should, but she’s actually a pretty cool person. He never expected to think that about any of his classmates, aside from Steve, but he doesn’t hate spending time with her. She has a good sense of humor, and her taste in music isn’t terrible. She’s no goodie-two-shoes, either. She can hold her liquor as good as he can, and she’s a damn good kisser. If he has to have a fake girlfriend, he’s kind of glad it’s her.

They meet up with a group of people for dinner at some fancy Italian place on 7th, because why not go all out? And then head over to the school.

The gymnasium looks like a party supply store threw up all over it, and the music is the same kind of shit they play on the radio all the time that Billy hates. He regrets his decision to come almost immediately as they find a table and settle in. Tommy H. disappears for a few minutes and comes back with an armful of punch cups, pulling out a flask to top them up with whatever liquor he snagged from his dad’s collection while the chaperones aren’t paying attention. Billy throws back the whole thing in one gulp, and Jill follows suit before getting up and dragging him out onto the dance floor with her.

They’ve been dancing for a while when he catches sight of Steve coming into the gym, completely alone. His heart stutters in his chest at the sight of the other boy in a dark brown tux, hair perfectly coiffed atop his head. It never ceases to amaze Billy, just how hot Steve is. It’s a wonder the guy hasn’t moved on from Nancy already. He could take his pick of absolutely any of the girls in this room. The thought unfurls envy in Billy's gut and makes him want to march across the gym, grab Steve by the hand, and take him somewhere that he can have his full attention on him. It’s completely irrational, he knows this, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling it.

He watches Steve from the dance floor for the next few songs, all of them are a bit slower in tempo so it’s easy to hold Jill close enough that she can’t tell his attention is on someone else. Steve talks to a few people before finally making his way onto the dance floor with some girl Billy doesn’t know. He tries his damnedest not to be bothered as Steve puts his hands on her waist and sways with her in time to the music. His back is turned to Billy for the majority of the song, but then they turn so that he’s facing him. His eyes meet Billy’s from across the room, and Billy feels it like electricity coursing beneath his skin. He tries not to react, hoping Jill won’t notice the sudden tension in his shoulders as Steve’s soft, brown eyes stay pinned to his face for what feels like an eternity.

It’s the first time he’s let himself really look at the other boy’s face in weeks. He’s done such a good job of avoiding him altogether, averting his gaze any time they’re in the same room, but he can’t get himself to look away this time. The room is dark, the music is loud, Phil Collins crooning the lyrics to Against All Odds, and Steve’s not looking away either. The look on his face is the kind of exhaustion that only comes from defeat, and it makes Billy ache inside. He wants, and _wants,_ as he holds Steve’s gaze. Wants to go to him, wants to apologize for the last three weeks, wants to beg for his forgiveness. He wants Steve to be the one in his arms, not Jill, wants to know what it would feel like to have Steve so close, to have Steve’s breath on his neck as they sway back and forth. He wants to tell him how he feels. It’s terrifying how much he wants to just tell him the truth. Something in Steve’s eyes tells him maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing if he did.

The song ends and Jill pulls back, effectively breaking him out of the moment when he’s forced to look back at her.

“I’m going to run to the bathroom,” she announces, squeezing his arm once before walking away. When Billy glances back at where Steve had been standing, he’s gone.

-

Steve’s lungs constrict with each breath as he pushes his way off the dance floor and out of the gym. He pulls at his tie uselessly, feeling suffocated by it but unable to loosen it properly. His palms are sweating, vision a bit blurred, as he finds a quiet spot outside the school and leans up against the brick to try and catch his breath. _Inhale, one, two three, four, hold, one, two, three, four, exhale._ He focuses on his breathing until his heart stops rampaging in his chest and the static in his head clears a little.

Why did he come here tonight? It’s not like he had a date or any other reason to come. Everyone just kept talking about how important your senior prom was, how he would regret it if he didn’t go, but so far he just regrets being here. He knew Billy would be here, knew that he’d be with his new _girlfriend,_ and he’d tried to prepare himself for the inevitability of it but he failed to take into account how _good_ Billy would look in a goddamn tux. It should be illegal, how good Billy looked in that black tuxedo, the pants of it almost as tight as the jeans he always wears, hugging his ass in a way that made Steve’s cheeks flush when he thought about it for too long.

That alone was enough to make Steve’s heart stop, but then he’d met his eyes from across the dance floor and he didn’t look away like he’s been doing for the past two weeks. If anything, his gaze intensified, making Steve feel like he was being stripped bare, left completely vulnerable to him. The most unnerving thing was that he didn’t hate it. It didn’t make him uncomfortable necessarily, in fact it almost felt _right_. Like he wanted Billy to see how much he hurt him, and how achingly he missed him.

“Steve?” Nancy’s voice interrupts the quiet that’s fallen over him, and he looks up to see her standing a few feet away, Jonathan behind her. She looks beautiful in a purple, chiffon dress, her hair pulled up into a mess of curls on top of her head. Jonathan doesn’t look too bad either, wearing a fitted navy blue tux, his hair slicked back for once. They make a sweet couple, Steve thinks absently. Something about them just _fits_ , in a way he knows he and Nancy never really did.

“I’m-“ Steve starts, and is cut off by the side door to the gymnasium swinging open. Billy steps out into the cool, April night, and Steve thinks he looks a little frantic at first, but he quickly composes himself when he sees the three of them, reaching into his pocket to pull out a carton of cigarettes. Steve detests how _relieved_ he is to see him, despite everything. He has every right to be angry, to yell, and to tell Billy off, because he should fucking hate him at this point. But he doesn’t. There had been something in Billy’s eyes on that dance floor, something that lit the faintest flame of hope in Steve’s chest and he isn’t ready to let it go just yet.

“Hey…” Billy says, slow and a bit uncertain, glancing at Steve only briefly before looking to Nancy and Jonathan.

“Steve?” Nancy glares at Billy and then looks back at Steve.

“Can I bum one?” Steve asks Billy, nodding at the carton in his hand.

“Course,” Billy pulls a second cigarette out and hands it to Steve, their fingers barely grazing, but it shoots pins and needles up Steve’s arm.

“Thanks.” He forces out a small smile and puts the cigarette in his mouth, turning back to the others. “Just gonna have a quick smoke, guys. I’ll meet you in there.” Nancy is obviously hesitating, but Steve gives her a nod and a shrug. She grabs Jonathan’s hand, leading him inside, and leaving Billy and Steve alone.

They stand there and smoke in silence for a while, Steve refusing to look at Billy despite how he can feel the other boy’s eyes on the side of his face. He knows that he’s not imagining the tension between them, so thick he doesn’t even think a knife would be enough to slice through it.

“Having a good time?” He breaks the silence first, still not looking at Billy but needing something, _anything_ to ease that tension.

“It’s all kind of bullshit, isn’t it?” Billy answers. “I didn’t really want to come, but Jill was way too excited about it.” Steve swallows thickly at the mention of Jill. He hates her even though he has no right. He doesn’t even know Jill, really. She shared a pudding cup with him once in the third grade, but that’s the extent of their interactions over the years.

“Yeah,” Steve scoffs, lifting the cigarette to his mouth to take another drag.

“What about you?” Billy asks after another beat of silence. “Who’s the lucky gal got asked to prom by King Steve?”

“I don’t have a date,” Steve answers, and god he hates admitting that. He really should’ve just asked someone. Absolutely anyone. It’s so embarrassing being here alone.

“No date for King Steve?” Billy’s taunting him, but there’s genuine surprise underlying it. Steve looks over at him then, and he really wishes he hadn’t. Billy’s quite a bit closer than he realized, close enough that Steve can see he’s shaved, the usual dusting of hair along his upper lip gone. His blonde curls are effortlessly tousled around his face, almost like they were just an afterthought, and sweet Jesus his lashes are unreal, long and thick and making those sharp, blue eyes look impossibly softer. Steve catches himself before his gaze falls to Billy’s lips, but that doesn’t stop him from thinking how badly he’d maybe like to kiss him.

“To be honest, I didn’t really want to come at all.” Steve says, smoke billowing out of his own lips, and looks away again. “But Dustin kept yammering on about how I had to, so I caved.”

“That kid can be pretty persuasive when he wants to be.” Billy chuckles.

“Yeah,” Steve shakes his head fondly, and for a moment it almost feels normal between them again.

It hurts. Steve’s missed Billy so much, missed _this_ , and he hates how easy and comfortable it still is when Billy just _talks_ to him. It hurts, and it’s unfair, and he can feel Billy watching him again. He doesn’t get it. Doesn’t get why Billy’s been ignoring him when it’s obvious he doesn’t hate him; doesn’t get why Billy hasn’t looked at him once in two weeks, but now it’s almost like…Billy refuses to look away. Hurt and confusion blur into anger, and before he knows it that anger is boiling beneath the surface, making his skin feel too tight. All the bullshit is just too much. He needs answers, and it’s obvious playing Mr. Nice isn’t getting him anywhere. He throws the rest of his cigarette to the ground and whips around to face Billy, crowding him up against the brick wall they’d been leaning against.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Hargrove?” He growls. “Where exactly do you get off?” He gets right up in Billy’s face, arm pressed over his chest and locking him into place. He’s so angry that it barely registers in his brain the way Billy’s gone completely pliant beneath him, arms limp at his sides like he’s never fought back a day in his life. Several beats of silence pass between them, and Billy doesn’t say a damn thing. The expression on his face is completely devoid of a challenge, in fact he looks downright scared, and that makes every particle of anger coursing through Steve’s veins come to a dead halt. It’s so obvious that Billy’s trying to make himself small, invisible even, his breaths shallow and silent despite how panicked he looks, and the jolt of realization sobers Steve in an instant. The last time he saw Billy look like this, he had been in Billy’s kitchen, watching him interact with his father. He lets go of Billy immediately, backing away several feet, arms held up like he’s trying to placate a scared animal.

“Billy, I…” he starts and Billy doesn’t move an inch, just keeps staring at Steve with those big, terrified eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“What do you want from me, Steve?” Billy says after another beat, back still pressed to the wall, eyes glassy with tears. “What do you want, huh? You want me to play nice again? Be your friend or whatever for a couple more weeks before I skip town? Is that what you want?”

“I want you to just tell me what the fuck is going on!” Steve shouts, taking a step forward again and Billy flinches, pressing even closer to the wall. “Jesus…Billy, I…I thought we were friends at least?”

“I don’t want to be your _friend_ , Steve.” Billy responds through clenched teeth, and why does it sound more like a confession than a rejection? Steve’s heart kicks up a storm in his chest, beating double time as he stares at the other boy, searching for some sort of answer in his eyes.

“What do you want then, Billy?” He asks, head swimming with possibilities he hasn’t dared to dream of. There’s no way Billy’s going to say what Steve wants him to, no way Billy feels even a modicum of what he feels for him. That’s not what this is, it’s not…Billy’s not like that. He’s got a girlfriend, and he’s ignoring Steve, and he’s trying to just let him off easy. He’s right, after all, in a couple weeks they’re going to be done with school and Billy’s going to drive off without a second thought, and this will all just be a horrible memory. Like the Demogorgon and the Mind Flayer. Just another thing Steve can add to his tally of things that keep him up at night.

Billy lets out a long, heavy breath, shaky and wet with the tears he’s refusing to let out, his eyes pleading with Steve; and Steve would give him absolutely anything, anything he possibly can, but he doesn’t know what the other boy wants.

“Steve…” he whispers, peeling himself away from the wall and taking a step toward Steve. He reaches a hand up, as if to touch Steve’s face, and then the same door he came through earlier is opening and Jill Seabrooke is standing on the other side of it. Billy’s hand drops immediately, and he turns to look at his prom date.

“Hey,” he says, all of the emotion in his voice completely gone and replaced with that sickly sweet charm that Steve hasn’t heard in ages. “Sorry, just stepped out for a smoke.”

“Can I?’ Jill asks, and Steve watches as Billy nods and pulls out a cigarette for her. She steps closer, leaning in so Billy can light the cigarette between her lips, and puffs on it a few times. They all stand in awkward silence for a moment, Jill smoking with one arm crossed over her chest, and Billy refusing to look at Steve again.

“I better…” Steve pipes up. “Get back inside. I promised Nancy a dance before the night’s over.” Billy’s head snaps up at that, eyebrows furrowed in question, and possibly mild irritation. Steve shrugs. Things aren’t perfect between him and Nancy, but they’re on the mend. Billy would know that, if he wasn’t too busy refusing to be his friend still. He doesn’t give him a chance to say anything else, though he honestly doubts that Billy would say anything anyway, and goes back into the gym.

He finds Nancy and Jonathan at a table near the entrance, and tells them he’s going to head home for the night. Nancy tries to guilt him into staying, just for one more dance at least, but he makes up a headache to justify leaving early. She doesn’t ask about Billy, and he doesn’t mention him, just tells the two of them that he’ll see them at school on Monday and heads out.

On the way home he nearly hits a deer in the road, too distracted thinking about the way Billy had said his name and reached out for him right before they’d been interrupted. He wants to know what would have happened if Jill hadn’t come out just then. What was Billy going to say or do? What exactly had he meant when he said he didn’t want to be Steve’s friend, with emphasis on the word friend? Why had his name sounded like a prayer on Billy’s lips? Or was Steve reading the whole situation wrong? There are so many questions tumbling around in his head, and he feels no closer to getting the answers.

He finds his mom curled up on the couch in the den when he wanders down there after getting ready for bed. He’s got a pillow under one arm and a blanket under the other, and she raises an eyebrow curiously at him when she turns around to see who’s entered the room.

“It’s a little early, isn’t it?” She asks, picking up the remote to press mute before turning back around to give him a once-over.

“Prom was lame,” Steve shrugs, walking around the couch and plopping down beside her. “Watchya watching?”

“It Happened One Night.” She answers. Steve looks at the TV to find Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert arguing, about what he can’t be sure since it’s muted, but he knows most likely Clark’s being a real ass. He’s never related to Claudette Colbert more.

“Mind if I join?” He asks, laying his pillow on the arm rest beside him and unfolding his blanket to spread out over his legs.

“Of course not,” his mom smiles and watches him for another second, concern clear on her face. He doesn’t acknowledge it, and she doesn’t say anything else before looking back at the TV and turning the volume up. Steve burrows into the couch, pulling the blanket up to his face, and lets himself get distracted by the ridiculous banter on the screen. It’s a Saturday night and it’s still early enough that they’ll probably end up watching another movie after this one. It’s rare this happens, but he’s pretty damn grateful for his mom being home tonight.

-

Steve’s been so distracted lately between everything that’s happened with the Hargroves, and Billy, and preparing for finals, that he hasn’t been to visit Jules in quite a while. So on Sunday night he steals a bottle of whiskey from his dad like usual and heads down to the cemetery. He’s still got about an hour of sunlight as he makes his way through the rows of familiar gravestones. He’s been here enough times he could easily draw a map of the whole cemetery with all the names of the people buried here. There have only been a small handful of additions since Jules passed away; that’s what happens when you live in a small town like Hawkins. He stops short when he notices a familiar form in the distance, standing in front of a gravestone that he knows has only been there since the fall.

He doesn’t want to startle her, so he takes several heavy steps toward Joyce, dead grass crunching beneath his sneakers. She looks up, but doesn’t say anything, just smiles sadly at him for a beat before turning back to the grave. He comes to stand beside her, looking down at the tombstone that reads ‘Bob Newby 1947-1984’. The hair on the back of his neck stands on end as he recalls the night Bob was killed in that goddamn lab on the outskirts of town. He never really knew Bob, just knew that he was Joyce’s boyfriend and that he was the reason they were able to escape the lab when the demodogs had overrun it. No one really talks about him anymore, at least not to Steve, but his death had been a catalyst for the events that unfolded that night.

He can see tears trailing down Joyce’s cheeks as she stares at the grave, arms crossed over her chest protectively. He’s seen her in varying states of emotional distress over the short time that he’s known her, but he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her look this genuinely _sad_. Even right after Bob died, she’d been so fucking angry at the Mind Flayer for possessing her son, there had been no time for expressing grief over the loss of someone she obviously loved.

He taps her arm with his elbow and lifts the whiskey bottle, a silent offering. She gives him that disapproving mom look, but then nods and silently accepts the bottle after he uncaps it. She takes a swig, and then hands it back to him. He takes a swig himself, and they proceed to stand there in silence for several minutes, passing the bottle back and forth.

“What brings you here, Steve?” She asks at length, swaying a bit as the whiskey starts to sink in.

“Visiting an old friend,” he answers, gesturing toward Jules’ grave. She glances in that direction, and then looks back at him, the sadness in her eyes only deepening.

“You’re too young to have friends here,” she says. “Who is it?”

“Name’s Jules Anderson,” he tells her. “She was a nanny of mine, back when I was in elementary school.”

“Jules Anderson?” Recognition crosses her face. “Jules! I knew Jules. She used to watch me and my brother when I was in middle school. God, I didn’t realize she’d passed.” Steve’s eyes widen in surprise at that. He’d never met anyone else who remembered Jules. Granted, he never really talked about her to anyone, but he’d wondered on more than one occasion if he’d actually made her up.

“Yeah,” he nods. “Colon cancer, seven years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” she frowns, rubbing a hand up and down his arm. “You were really young, huh?”

“Yeah,” he answers, emotion building in his throat.

“She was a good woman,” Joyce smiles again, still sad but genuine. “I didn’t like anyone in middle school, but I always secretly adored her.” He looks away, swallowing hard, and blinking a few times to try and keep the tears at bay. He doesn’t know how to say just how much Jules meant to him, doesn’t know how to say that she’s the only person who ever made him feel like he mattered, or how to admit how badly he misses her.

He stares down at Bob’s grave and thinks about how Joyce had just been standing here, for how long before he showed up he can’t even say. He doesn’t know exactly what Bob meant to Joyce, but he knows she loved him, and that she’s still grieving. She wouldn’t be standing here if that weren’t the case, and he takes comfort in the fact that, in her own way, she gets it. Her hand squeezes his arm and when he looks back up, she’s holding the whiskey bottle in a mimicry of the silent offer he’d made not ten minutes ago. He lets out a heavy sigh at that, smiling just the slightest bit, and takes the bottle from her hand.

“Don’t tell Hop.” She says, grinning, as he tips the bottle back to take several gulps. The whiskey leaves a trail of warmth from his mouth all the way to his belly, where the smallest hint of guilt is awakening.

For so long Jules has been this source of comfort for him, first when he was a lonely child who just needed someone to genuinely show that he was worth their time and effort, and then as he grew older and her memory served as a reminder that sometimes people left not because he did anything wrong or wasn’t good enough for them, but because life was just unfair that way. In his darkest times he would come to this cemetery and seek comfort by her grave, drawing on memories that he realizes now are tinted a little brighter by the rose colored glasses of nostalgia. But it always felt like something he could share with her, like the best way he could honor her even after her death.

Over the past few months, though, he’s stopped relying on her in that way. In fact, he can’t remember the last time he came to visit her without Billy by his side. Billy, who distracted him from his loneliness with his easy teasing and warm smiles he seemed to reserve only for Steve. And when Billy went missing, he sought comfort in Joyce and Hopper, who had become like surrogate parents to him without him even realizing it. This is the first time he’s really thought to turn to Jules in the midst of all of it, and still he’s standing here with Joyce instead of visiting her grave.

It’s silly, he knows that, because Jules is dead and it doesn’t make a difference to her whether he leans on her or someone else for strength, but that doesn’t stop the sharp edge of guilt from picking at his gut. He takes another sip out of the whiskey bottle before handing it back to Joyce, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, and walking over to Jules’ grave. He crouches down in front of it, reaching a hand out to touch the cold stone, and doesn’t fight the tears that come to his eyes this time. He glances over at Joyce, but she’s not watching him, and leans in a bit closer.

“I miss you,” he whispers, swallowing thickly as tears fall onto the stone below him. “I’m always going to miss you.” He doesn’t say anything else, because he feels ridiculous talking to a gravestone, and it doesn’t seem like Joyce is paying him any attention but he’s hyper aware of her presence regardless.

He considers everything that’s happened since the last time he was here alone, and all of the things he’d contemplated telling her during the drive over. But he realizes that he doesn’t really need to tell her any of those things. This had always been a practice in self-reflection for him, an outlet for him to get out all of the things inside of him that built up as he spent week after week completely alone. But the truth is, he hasn’t been alone for a long time now. He glances back up at Joyce and comes to the realization that he’d much rather be spilling his guts to her; to someone who can offer tangible comfort, and maybe even tell him what he should do.

He reaches a hand to his lips, kissing his fingertips, and presses it to the cold stone. It’s not goodbye, but it kind of feels like it as he pulls back and gives the gravestone one final nod before returning to Joyce.

“You okay?” She asks, eyes searching his face, and he knows she must see the tear tracks on his cheeks. He smiles, shaking his head, and leans into her a bit. She wraps an arm around him, pulling him just that tiny bit closer, and waits; for him to talk, or cry, or do whatever he needs to do. And he does. After letting out a heavy, wet sigh, he starts talking. And he apologizes several times for interrupting her time with Bob, but she assures him that this matters just as much, and it’s so genuine and unfamiliar that it makes more tears fall from his eyes.

They settle down in the grass beside Bob’s grave, and he talks. She interjects with questions, and he tells her every fucking thing. About how scared he’s been since the Fall, about how he doesn’t think he’ll ever find a college that will accept him, and finally about Billy. His heart is in his throat as he admits that what he feels for Billy isn’t just platonic, and it settles back into his chest when she tells him that she had wondered if that was the case and that she thinks there’s absolutely nothing wrong with it. He tells her about prom night, and it’s clear that she’s skeptical, but she doesn’t dismiss it altogether, and that’s about the best he can ask for.

By the time they’re walking back to the parking lot, he’s still got no idea what he’s actually going to do, but he feels a hell of a lot lighter about it all.

“Thank you for talking to me, Steve.” Joyce says as they come to a stop beside her car. “It means a lot, that you would trust me with all of that.”

“Thank you,” he smiles, letting her pull him into a hug, and reveling in how warm and comforting it is.

“You’re gonna be okay, you know?” She whispers, rubbing a hand up and down his back. He doesn’t believe it, but it’s obvious that she does, and right now…that’s good enough for him. He nods into her shoulder and squeezes one last time before pulling away.

“Thanks,” he repeats himself and he hopes she understands just how much her belief in him really means to him. As she smiles and bids him goodnight, climbing into her car, he thinks she probably has an idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so anyway...
> 
> I played around with the sequencing of these scenes quite a bit, trying to figure out how they fit together best. Hopefully this made sense and didn't feel too disjointed.
> 
> I should probably read through it one more time just to be sure, but honestly I've read through it so many times already that I've lost all comprehension. Let me know what you think!
> 
> Thanks to everyone for your super amazing and kind words! You're all the absolute best! :)


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhh...here. Take it.

It’s almost seven o’clock in the morning and Billy is leaned up against the bathroom cabinets, hand on his father’s back, while Neil vomits into the sink. Susan had woken him at half past five, unable to help Neil out of bed on her own. He recently switched meds and his stomach clearly doesn’t agree with them, so this has become a bit of a routine for them. Billy helps him into the bathroom and waits for up to an hour while his father pukes his guts out, and then leads him to the couch where he’ll spend the next several hours watching TV and refusing to eat anything despite how badly he needs it.

It’s surreal, seeing his father this fragile and helpless. Neil would be completely lost if it weren’t for his family, and the shift in power is difficult to maneuver. Billy’s so used to Neil being the one in control, using his place as the head of the family and his physical superiority to keep them all in a strict line that he defined. But now he’s weak, wholly reliant on all of them for the most basic of needs, and it’s obvious that it’s wearing on him. He yells a lot more than he used to, trying to make up for the fact that he can’t threaten them with physical force anymore. The yelling is what’s really started to wear Susan down. Billy can see it in her eyes every time Neil raises his voice or smacks a plate of food out of her hand. Sometimes she’ll leave the mess for Billy or Max to clean up and just disappear into her room for hours at a time; and Neil never apologizes.

So here Billy’s standing, watching his father spit up stomach acid and thinking about all the ways in which his life, which was already pretty fucked up, has only become even more fucked up. When he came back from Indianapolis, he’d resolved to keep his head down and get through school so he could finally leave this place behind, once and for all. But with each passing day, he feels less and less like it’s something he’ll be able to do. Susan’s _this_ close to throwing in the towel, he can feel it, and Max relies on him more than ever these days. And Neil. Goddamnit, Neil is literally hopeless without him. Susan can’t even get him out of bed without Billy’s help. What the hell’s going to happen when he leaves? Who’s going to take care of Neil or look after Max when Susan gives up on it all?

 _Respect and responsibility, Billy…_ his father’s voice says on repeat in his head every time his mind wanders into daydreams about getting out. Respect and responsi-fucking-bility. Billy’s blood practically boils at the words. It’s unfair. He wants nothing more than to lash out, yell and scream and throw his fists into any poor idiot who’s nearby, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t because what would be the point anymore? It won’t change anything.

He gets his father cleaned up and settled on the couch before going to wake Max. He knocks on her door twice and then opens it, the static hum of her radio filtering out into the hall.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says just above a whisper and walks over to the radio on her bedside table to shut it off; Susan had gone back to bed after Billy got Neil out of bed, so he’s trying not to make too much noise. “Time to get up.” Max grunts irritatedly and buries her face in her pillow, but she reaches a hand out of her cocoon of blankets to give him a thumbs up, so that’s good enough for him. He goes to his room and gets ready for school, too exhausted to put much effort into his appearance. It’s finals week at school, which means he’s been up late every night for the past week studying, and then getting maybe two hours of sleep before Susan wakes him up to take care of Neil.

“Billy?” Max comes up to his room and leans against the doorway.

“What’s up, squirt?” He asks, kneeling down to rescue a stray textbook that’s made its way under his bed.

“Can I borrow a t-shirt?” She responds. “I’m out of clean clothes…”

“Why are you out of clean clothes?” He looks up at her from the floor, quirking an eyebrow.

“There’s no laundry detergent,” she says. He groans, closing his eyes and dropping his head for a minute.

“Okay,” he finally nods and gestures to his closet. “Sure, yeah, you can borrow something.” She smiles and walks over to his closet, rifling through the pile of clumsily folded t-shirts on his shelf. He stands back up and shoves the rescued book into his backpack, then goes to his dresser to spray on some cologne, hoping it will cover up the fact that he hasn’t showered in a few days.

“Where’s your Led Zeppelin shirt?” Max asks, back still turned to him.

“I haven’t seen it in weeks,” he says, glancing at her through the mirror. “You didn’t borrow it?”

“No…” she shakes her head. He shrugs, giving himself a final once-over in the mirror before grabbing his backpack off of his bed and heading for the kitchen. Susan comes out of her room and goes straight for the coffeemaker as Billy stares into the nearly empty fridge.

“Should I pick up some groceries on the way home today?” He asks, closing the fridge and opening up the pantry instead. There’s half a loaf of bread and some trail mix. Toast it is.

“Please,” Susan nods as she pours the last of a bag of coffee grounds into the coffee filter and then grabs the pot and takes it to the sink to fill it up with water. “I have some cash in my purse.”

“Okay,” he makes quick work of tossing a few slices of bread into the toaster oven and then goes into the living room to grab Susan’s purse.

“Dad, you want some toast or something?” Billy asks Neil, who doesn’t look away from the TV as he shakes his head. Billy rolls his eyes and goes back to the kitchen with Susan’s purse in tow. He sets it down on the counter beside her and she opens it up to pull out her wallet.

“You think forty will do?” She asks.

“Got an extra ten?” He asks. “We need laundry detergent, too.”

“No, this is all I’ve got for the week,” she shakes her head, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. She’s not used to pinching pennies, Billy knows this cause neither is he. Neil’s always made good money, but things are tight now with him being out of work. His job’s been good about still paying him a decent paycheck every two weeks, but he used to work a lot of overtime that he’s obviously not getting anymore. Forty dollars will be a stretch. Billy can make it work, but in the back of his head he’s already making a mental checklist of places to look for work, starting with the grocery store.

“Okay,” He nods. “I’ll make it work.”

“Thanks,” she hands him two twenties and goes back to staring at the coffee maker while it gurgles to life.

Max joins them just as Billy’s setting butter and jam out on the kitchen table, alongside a plate with about eight slices of toast on it. She raises an eyebrow in question, and he just shrugs in response.

“We’ve got to make a grocery run after school today,” he tells her as he picks up two slices of toast and starts slathering them in butter. “So you can’t dawdle after class, alright?”

“Okay,” Max nods. “Are we still picking up El, too? Mom said she could come over for a couple of hours after school.”

“Shit,” Billy says, and then quickly glances at Susan, who seems uncharacteristically unbothered by him cursing. “Uh, yeah. You think she’d be cool with coming to the store with us?”

“Yeah,” Max nods again. “Hop said she’ll be at the station with him.”

“Cool,” he nods back as he finishes spreading an excessive amount of jam onto his toast. He uses one hand to shove toast into his mouth while he jots down a grocery list with the other.

He pours himself a mug of coffee after Susan’s helped herself and disappeared back into her room, throwing it back in a few gulps to wash down the toast that he practically inhaled. He spreads a small amount of butter and jam onto two extra slices of toast and cuts them up into bite sized pieces, easy enough for Neil to pick up and eat on his own. On the way out he sets the plate on the table beside the couch, within easy reach for his father. Neil doesn’t say anything, just keeps staring at the TV, but Billy tells him goodbye anyway as he ushers Max out the front door.

-

Steve wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole when he finds Billy and Nancy having what looks like a heated conversation in front of his locker. Nancy is glaring daggers at the other boy, who looks disheveled and exhausted and equally as irritated as they talk in voices low enough to be drowned out by the hustle and bustle of the other students around them.

“Hey guys?” Steve says tentatively as he approaches them, stomach flip-flopping with nervous energy. Both of them turn to him at the same time, Nancy slapping on an easy smile and Billy looking like a deer-in-headlights.

“How was your weekend, Steve?” Nancy asks.

“Fine…” he drags out the word, glancing back and forth between them curiously.

“I, uh,” Billy looks at Nancy, biting the inside of his cheek. “I’ve got to get to class.” He walks away before Steve can say anything in response, and Steve watches him leave, debating with himself over going after him. It’s the first time he’s seen Billy since prom night, and he’s got a lot of questions that he’d very much like answers to. Nancy clears her throat beside him, pulling his attention back to her. She’s got an eyebrow raised and an unreadable look in her eyes.

“What was that about?” He asks.

“Nothing, don’t worry about it.” She shakes her head.

“It was nothing, or I shouldn’t worry about it?” He squints skeptically at her.

“Don’t worry about it,” she repeats herself more firmly. “Ready for finals?” Steve just groans in response and turns to his locker, putting in the combination and opening it. He shoves his head inside and pretends to slam it shut on his neck a couple times.

“I can help you study,” she offers, leaning against the locker next to his. “C’mon, seriously. Let me help you.”

“I doubt any more studying could help at this point, Nance,” he replies, laying his head on top of a stack of books and looking up at her. “I’m just gonna have to take the damn finals and let the cards fall where they may.”

“That’s awfully nihilistic of you,” she rolls her eyes, but there’s humor in her tone.

“It’s not like I’m going to get into any schools at this point anyway,” he shrugs.

“You haven’t heard from _anyone_?” She sounds surprised, which Steve chooses to take as a compliment.

“Technically I’ve been accepted to Notre Dame,” he says with a grimace. The acceptance letter had actually come a week ago, but he’d stashed it in a pile of random papers on his desk and done a pretty good job of forgetting it altogether until now.

“Notre Dame’s a great school, Steve!” She gives him the classic “you’re being an idiot” look.

“I know!” Steve responds, and he knows his voice is verging on whiney. “But it’s also my dad’s alma mater, and his top pick. _And_ it’s still in fucking Indiana.”

“What’s wrong with staying in Indiana?” She asks, and he glares at her.

“Do you want the list in alphabetical or chronological order?” He retorts. She rolls her eyes again and turns away to look around the hallway.

“You’ve got to go somewhere, Steve,” she says at length. “At least it isn’t Hawkins.” He doesn’t answer, because he doesn’t have anything to say to that. She’s right. He hates that she’s right. She doesn’t seem too concerned with getting an answer from him, though, as she waves at someone down the hall and walks away without saying anything else.

He breathes a sigh of relief and lifts his head, collecting his books for the first two periods and shutting his locker before heading off in the direction of his first class.

-

“Fine, you can each have _one_ candy bar,” Billy concedes to the two teenage girls who are currently giving him puppy-dog eyes right next to the toilet paper and kleenex. “And you can’t tell Susan.” It’s not the best way to spend what limited money they have, but he found a few extra dollars floating around his car so he figures it’ll be fine.

“Thanks!” Max exclaims, grabbing Jane’s hand and pulling her toward the candy aisle. Billy lets out a sigh, and he would one hundred percent deny it if anyone tried to point out the fondness in it, but it’s definitely there, and heads for the frozen food section. With Neil being out of work, Susan’s been taking on extra work in the evenings, so it’s up to Billy to make dinner most nights and his skills in the kitchen are pretty limited. Basically if he can pull it out of the freezer and shove it into the oven, he’s good to go. Anything more complex than that and it gets kind of dodgy.

He’s leaning down to grab a bag of frozen broccoli when he hears someone say his name. He stands up and turns to his left to find Joyce Byers standing a few feet away, shopping cart half full and a smile on her face.

“Hey, Mrs. Byers…” he greets her, forcing a smile in return.

“Hey,” she responds. “How are things? Max tells me your dad is doing well?”

“Yeah,” Billy nods. “He’s got a ways to go. But the doctors expect a ninety percent recovery.”

“That’s great,” she nods. “I’m really glad to hear that.”

“Mom, I couldn’t find the corn do-” Will appears on the other end of the aisle, holding a few boxes of frozen pizza, and stopping dead in his tracks when he sees Billy.

“Really?” Joyce looks over at her son, frowning, and then gestures for him to come closer. He stares at Billy with wide eyes as he walks to the cart, looking away only to drop the boxes into it. Billy just grins at him, amused by the look on Will's face. He knows that look. He was that kid once, too, after all.

“Hey,” he says, and Will’s cheeks flush red as he looks down at his feet.

“Can you grab the cereal, sweetie?” Joyce asks, distracted as she looks at the selection of pizzas Will dropped into the cart.

“Sure,” Will nods and hurries away, out of the aisle. Billy holds back a chuckle, not wanting to have to explain to Joyce what’s so funny. He doesn’t really know her, and he’s definitely not interested in being the one to tell her that her son probably isn’t all that straight if she doesn’t already know.

“So listen,” she looks back up at him. “We’re having a picnic on Saturday. It’s kind of like an annual end-of-school get together. Me and the other moms take turns hosting, and it’s my turn this year. I invited Max and Susan already, but I wanted to extend the invitation to you as well.”

“Oh, I don’t…” Billy shakes his head. He knows that a picnic with all of Max’s friends is exactly the kind of thing he’d see Steve at, and he’s not ready to face him again. Not after his conversation with Nancy this morning.

He’d been pacing in front of Steve’s locker for several minutes, resolved to ask him if they could talk at lunch, when she came up and stopped him. She asked him what he was doing, and his response was admittedly rude, which put her on the defense immediately. She proceeded to berate him verbally until all of the confidence he’d been building up to finally talk to Steve had dwindled to nothing.

It wasn’t just what she had to say about him personally, but what she had to say about his treatment of Steve. He had done a damn good job of convincing himself that Steve was better off without him; but she really drove home just how much his actions had upset Steve. Sure, Max had called him out for how shitty he’d been since coming back, but he just figured she was being oversensitive or something. He couldn’t say that anymore after hearing it from Nancy, too. Her words brought back memories of how riled up Steve had been on prom night. It was obvious that he hurt Steve, way more deeply than he anticipated, and that opened up a veritable pandora’s box of other questions he was not prepared to ask. So he didn’t end up talking to Steve, and he has every intention of avoiding that conversation for a while still.

“No, sir, I won’t take no for an answer.” Joyce shakes her head right back.

“Well, I mean, someone’s gotta be home with Neil, I’d hate to…” He shoots for a different angle.

“Max said he’s usually at therapy on Saturdays,” she shoots back, and damn she’s done her homework. “So you’ve got no excuses. You have to come by at least for a little bit. Say yes.” He racks his brain for another excuse, but he’s coming up short and she’s staring him down the same way Max always does, rendering him powerless.

“Okay,” he concedes. “I’ll stop by.”

“Great!” She claps excitedly, smiling again. “Picnic starts at noon, but feel free to drop by anytime between then and seven or eight-ish. It’s an all-day kind of thing.”

“Sure,” he nods, then gestures to the other end of the aisle. “I better go, but I’ll see you then.”

“Good to see you, Billy!” She calls after him as he heads out of the aisle. There’s a sinking feeling in his gut as he finds Max and Jane in the candy aisle. He doesn’t mention the picnic to the girls, but Jane is giving him this look like she can tell something’s upset him. She hands the candy bar she’d chosen to Max and disappears out of the aisle. Billy raises an eyebrow at Max and she just shrugs, throwing the two candy bars into the cart and heading in the same direction as Jane. They find her in the chip aisle, several bags of Cheetos piled up in her arms.

She holds them out in offering to Billy, big brown eyes serious as always, and he can’t stop himself from laughing at that. Her eyebrows furrow at that, but her serious expression cracks with a smile when he grabs one bag and throws it into the car.

“Much as I’d love a lifetime supply, Susan’ll kill me if I spend all her money on Cheetos, kiddo.” He says, still laughing, and her grin grows. He realizes that he’s never seen her outright laugh, but the grin on her face is probably the closest she’s ever gotten to it, at least around him. It’s kind of sad, really. A kid her age should laugh more often. He remembers Max saying that she’s been through some shit, but so has he and so has Max. And they find plenty of reasons to laugh from time to time. He can’t help wondering just what kind of shit a kid has to go through in order to not even know how to laugh.

They pick up a few more things, then head to the check out. Billy asks if they’re hiring, and Max gives him a strange look but she doesn’t say anything. The woman at the register gives him an application and proceeds to scan their groceries while he says thanks and tucks it into his back pocket.

Billy challenges the girls to see who can carry the most bags inside when they get home, and they all but tackle him to the ground trying to get the bags from him. In the end he feels a little smug as he follows them up the steps, struggling with half a dozen bags between them, while he’s left with just the box of laundry detergent. They make it too easy.

Neil is asleep on the couch when they get into the house, and they do an impressive job tiptoeing to the kitchen without making too much noise, the rustling of the grocery bags the only thing that overpowers the quiet drawl of the afternoon news coming from the TV. Billy helps them put away the groceries and then asks them to go play in Max’s room while he makes dinner.

Neil eyes Jane warily as Billy helps him to the kitchen table for dinner, and she does nothing to ease his apprehension, staring at him like she can see straight through his skin and into his soul. He doesn’t say anything, though, and they make it through the whole evening without a single outburst from him. Billy thinks they should have her around more often.

-

Technically Steve survived finals, but it hardly feels that way after all the late night cramming and barely making it to class on time every morning. He’s pretty sure he guessed his way through at least two of his finals, so he definitely can’t wait to see his report card. Regardless, it’s over now and he doesn’t recall the last time he felt this relieved. He’ll be done with High School for good in a little over a week, and then he gets to spend his summer fretting over what the hell comes next.

It’s around nine o’clock on Saturday morning and he’s lying on the Byers’ couch, listening to the crackle of the radio and the soft hum of Joyce’s voice as she moves around the kitchen. The living room floor is covered with blankets and sleeping middle schoolers, all seemingly immune to the sunlight pouring in through the open blinds, and the loud snores coming from Mike. Apparently it was tradition for them to have an end-of-the-school-year sleepover the night before their end-of-the-school-year picnic with all of their families, and Steve was one of them now so naturally he’d been invited.

The sweet, rich smell of coffee fills his nostrils as he lies there, compelling him to get up from the couch and claim a mug of it for himself. Joyce is pouring herself a mug when he walks into the kitchen, wearing a robe over her pajamas and a pencil tucked behind her ear.

“Morning,” he greets and she looks up, smiling.

“Morning,” she says. “Coffee?”

“Please,” he nods and takes a seat at the kitchen table while she pulls out an extra mug and fills it up. There’s milk already out on the table, sitting beside a bowl of dry Cheerios and a notepad. Joyce takes takes a seat in front of the bowl of Cheerios and sets a second mug of coffee down in front of Steve; he fills it up the rest of the way with milk.

“You hungry?” She asks as she takes the milk from him and pours it over the Cheerios. “I’m not making breakfast, but we’ve got plenty of cereal.”

“I’m good for now,” he shakes his head and glances down at the notepad, where a list of to-do’s has been scrawled out in messy handwriting. “How can I help to get ready for the picnic?”

“I’ve got a list for the store,” she says between bites of cereal. “If you wouldn’t mind taking care of that, then I could stay here and tidy up a bit. You can make some of the boys go with you.”

“Sure,” he nods.

“Great,” she smiles and sets down her spoon to rifle through the notepad, stopping a few pages back and ripping the page out. “This should be everything.” His eyes widen as he looks down at the rather extensive list.

“Jesus, how many people are coming to this thing?” He asks.

“Well, there’s the Wheelers, Sinclairs, and Hendersons, all of them make eleven,” she counts off. “My boys and I make fourteen, Hop and El sixteen, the Hargroves nineteen, and you make twenty.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Hargrove are coming?” Uneasiness clutches at Steve’s insides.

“Mrs. Hargrove and Billy,” she corrects and the uneasiness only builds.

“Billy’s coming?” Steve croaks out.

“He said he’d stop by,” she answers, looking at him over her coffee mug, but her expression is unreadable.

“Why?” He asks.

“Because I invited him?” She says it like a question.

“But _why_?” He asks again.

“Because it’s a family thing, and he’s part of Max’s family.” She says, and he doesn’t trust the glint of mischief in her eyes. He raises an eyebrow at her and she just shrugs before looking back down at her list. He wants to ask what her angle is, not believing for a second that she’s not up to something, but Dustin and Mike stumble in then, making way more noise than is necessary to pour themselves some breakfast.

Billy continued to avoid him all week, so they still haven’t spoken since prom. He’s beginning to wonder if he imagined what had happened that night. But he knows for a fact that he didn’t. And he’s sick of wondering about it. He wants answers.

The picnic is definitely not the place to hash it out, though, so he resolves to do his damndest to act as normal as possible.

-

Billy hates how fucking nervous he is as he pulls up to the Byers’ house and parks next to the Wheeler’s mini van. Those nerves only kick up his heart rate more when he spots Steve’s Beemer on the other side of the drive. Why the hell did he agree to come here today? He’s not ready to talk to Steve, especially not in front of all these people.

He can see Chief Hopper smoking out on the porch with Mr. Sinclair from his car, and the Chief waved at him when he pulled up so he can’t exactly turn around now. He turns off the car and climbs out, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it as he approaches the two men. The smell of charcoal is in the air, and several voices spill out from inside and around the back of the house. He’s pretty sure one of those voices belongs to Max, who’s yelling about something he can’t quite make out; but she doesn’t sound distressed or upset, so he doesn’t worry about it.

“Billy,” the Chief nods at him.

“Chief,” he nods back, coming to a stop a few feet in front of them.

“Martin, you know Billy?” The Chief asks Mr. Sinclair.

“Sure do,” Mr. Sinclair affirms, smiling at Billy. “How’s your father, Billy?”

“Improving every day, sir,” Billy lies. “He wanted to come today, but he had physical therapy.” He always feels a little self conscious talking to Mr. Sinclair, seeing as how he’s military just like his old man; but Lucas talks pretty highly of him, so he has no reason to believe their similarities go beyond that.

“Be sure to send him our well wishes,” Mr. Sinclair responds.

“Will do,” Billy nods once more and then lifts the cigarette to his mouth to take a drag while the Chief and Mr. Sinclair fall back into easy conversation. A burst of bright red pops into his periphery, followed closely by a loud yelp and he turns to see Max tackling Dustin into the front lawn while he clings to a scrap of blue cloth.

“Hand it over, Henderson!” She shouts in his ear, grabbing his arm and twisting it behind his back. He yelps again and drops the cloth. She snatches it up and jumps to her feet without missing a beat. Billy cheers from the porch and her head shoots up, cheeks flushed pink when she notices the three of them watching the whole scene. Cheers erupt from the side of the house and then Lucas, Will, Jane, and Steve all come into view. They’re wearing matching green bandanas around different limbs, and Steve’s got his around his head like a headband, pushing his hair back in this ridiculously endearing way. Billy’s heart clenches in his chest at the sight of him. He’s smiling bigger than Billy’s seen him smile in a long time, clapping Max on the back and chanting “Ninja Turtles!” along with his team. Billy can’t help recalling their last interaction, at school on Monday. Steve had looked so tired, and hurt; and Billy knows he did that. But this Steve - happy and smiling and looking like he doesn’t have a care in the world? That’s who Steve is when Billy isn’t weighing him down.

He takes another drag of his cigarette, thinking about all the reasons he really shouldn’t be here, and realizes belatedly that the Chief and Mr. Sinclair have disappeared back inside, leaving him on the porch alone. Max looks back up at him from where she’s stood in the middle of the group and he reaches a hand to wave at her dismissively but she’s already calling his name. Everyone turns their attention to him, and all the blood rushes out of his face as he swallows and turns the dismissive wave to one of greeting.

“Hey, Billy!” Lucas shouts, waving back and now Billy feels like an idiot just standing on the porch all by himself. He drops the cigarette into the gravel and walks over to the group.

“Hey,” he says, going for nonchalant but he can feel his voice shaking as his eyes land on Steve briefly, whose smile has fallen from his face, before moving around the rest of the group. He’d been too distracted watching Steve to realize that the rest of the kids were there now too, alongside Jonathan and Nancy. He doesn’t look at Nancy, but he can feel her glaring at him regardless.

“We’re about to play another round of capture the flag,” Max says. “You can be on the other team, they could use the help.”

“Hey!” Mike shrieks, making a face at her, and Max sticks her tongue out at him.

“It’s okay, I think I’ll pass,” Billy says, gesturing dismissively.

“C’mon, man,” Dustin pipes up from where he’s stood next to Mike. “You have to play at least one round of capture the flag. Picnic rule.”

“No it’s not?” Mike glares at Dustin.

“Shut up.” Dustin claps a hand over Mike’s mouth. They’re interrupted by the loud ring of a bell coming from the backyard before anything else can be said.

“Thank god, I’m starving!” Lucas exclaims as they all scramble into the backyard. Billy watches them leave, and then realizes that Steve is the only one still standing there with him. He raises an eyebrow at the other boy in question and Steve shrugs, equally confused.

“Means the food is ready!” Dustin calls, turning around to face them as he runs backwards into the backyard. Steve makes a noise of understanding and starts to follow, stopping a few feet away and looking back at Billy.

“You coming?” He asks, and Billy feels something twist in his gut as he nods and jogs a little to catch up. They walk in an awkward silence, Billy’s shoulders tense as he does his best to keep several feet of distance between them.

“How are you?” Steve asks suddenly, slowing his pace minutely as they reach the side of the house.

“Things are pretty much the same,” Billy shrugs, attempting to come across casual. “Dad’s doing better every day.”

“That’s good,” Steve nods and then stops, turning to face Billy fully, expression serious and too critical for Billy’s comfort. “But I didn’t ask how Neil is.” He doesn’t know how to respond to that. Ever since Neil’s stroke, people have really only asked him about his father. No one’s asked about him, especially not so pointedly after he’s defaulted to a progress report on his father. But of course Steve did. Because no matter what Billy does, Steve’s always going to be impossibly kind, and he’s always going to care way more than he ever should.

“I’m fine, Harrington.” He says, and his voice is definitely shaking again, but he’s hoping his hardened expression and the use of “Harrington” masks it a little.

“Okay,” Steve replies sarcastically, rolling his eyes, and continues his trek to the backyard. Billy feels guilty as he follows him, wishing he could take it back and tell Steve the truth: that he’s exhausted, and terrified, and misses him all the fucking time. He wants to tell Steve that he’s living in hell and he can’t find a way out, and he thought pushing him away would be the answer, but he thinks maybe that’s bullshit now. He’s made a lot of fucking stupid mistakes in his life, but as he watches Steve disappear around the corner he thinks that pushing Steve away was the worst of them all.

-

Steve watches Billy from where he’s sat at on a blanket in the grass beside Nancy and Jonathan. He’s standing with Joyce by the grill that’s now open and cooling off, smoking what Steve is pretty sure is his fourth cigarette since they all gathered around to eat. Something definitely doesn’t feel right. Billy’s smiling and he’s talking easily enough, but there’s a stiffness in his posture that’s a dead giveaway. Billy’s been so good at avoiding Steve these past few weeks that Steve’s hardly had the chance to really observe him or take note of just how off something is with the other boy. He looks exhausted, in that bone-deep way that comes from things far heavier than the stress of school and not enough sleep.

It’s concerning. He wishes Billy would just talk to him. Billy’s never been huge on talking about his feelings, but Steve likes to think he’d begun to open up before Neil’s stroke. He watches him talk to Joyce and he can’t help hoping that maybe Joyce will get him to talk a little. She’s good at that. And if Billy can’t talk to Steve, he hopes he can at least talk to someone. He deserves to have someone listen.

He’s distracted away from those thoughts though when Lucas incites a game of kickball on the front lawn and the kids all demand that everyone play, including the adults. Mrs. Wheeler and Mrs. Hargrove opt out, but everyone else agrees and they split into two teams: Adults against kids, with the exception of Jonathan and Billy on the adult team.

Steve and Billy are the only two with any real athletic ability, so they end up taking the position of captain on their respective teams and they fall pretty easily into their usual rivalry despite everything that sits unresolved between them.

It’s cathartic in a way, to taunt Billy and try to get under his skin without it having to be personal. Steve can let out all of his pent up frustration over the other boy without it being overtly about that. And Billy takes it and gives it back as gracelessly as usual. Steve wouldn’t have it any other way.

By the end of the game Billy’s team has completely decimated Steve’s, and he’s pretty fucking smug about it.

“Not the King anymore, huh, Harrington?” He says, grinning like the Cheshire Cat and Steve knows that it’s meant to rile him up, but he’s just happy to see that glint of pride in Billy’s eyes again.

“You’re a little too smug for a guy who only beat a group of little kids,” Steve shoots back, which earns him several shouts of disdain from his own side.

“I’d wipe the floor with your ass any day, regardless of who’s on your team.” Billy responds, tilting his chin up in a show of defiance. “It’s all about leadership, Harrington.” He licks his bottom lip in that obscene way that he used to do all the time when they got into it on the court, and it completely derails Steve's train of thought, leaving him with no response. Thankfully Dustin steps in.

“You wanna go again, Hargrove?” He asks. “You know what they say about beginner’s luck.”

“I would, but I think you’ve embarrassed yourselves enough for one day.” Billy says, but there’s no bite to it. He’s grinning even more now, clearly amused by how wound up Dustin is, and Steve just loses it. He starts laughing, and then he can’t stop, and Billy looks startled for a second before he starts laughing too. Dustin turns and gives Steve a look of genuine confusion mixed with maybe a little bit of concern, but Steve just keeps laughing, eyes focusing on Billy who’s laughing just as hard.

Most everyone else has walked away at this point, uninterested in the back and forth between the two of them, and Steve’s kind of glad for that as his laughter tapers off and he reaches a hand up to wipe the tears from his eyes. Billy’s laughter tapers off, as well, and he’s got this impossibly sad but pleased smile on his face as he holds Steve’s gaze. Steve’s heart stutters in his chest and _I missed you_ is right on the tip of his tongue, but he remembers that Dustin is standing right there and he stops himself from saying it.

“Anyway…” Mike says from where he’s standing with Eleven just a few feet away from them. “If you guys are done being weird, we should play another round of capture the flag.”

-

Billy steps out onto the porch to smoke a cigarette, having excused himself from a rather intense game of Monopoly at the dining room table, and watches as Jane and Max help Holly capture lightning bugs in the waning evening light. The little squeals she lets out every time they capture another one and guide it into the jar that she’s got in her lap are oddly endearing. Billy’s never been a fan of kids, but maybe he’s going soft.

“Mind if I join you?” Joyce asks as she steps out onto the porch, her own cigarette poised between her fingers.

“Sure,” he nods and she takes a place beside him on the steps.

“I’m glad you came, Billy.” She says after a beat of silence passes between them. He glances over at her to see her smiling at him.

“Me too,” he admits.

“Good,” she smiles a little bigger then and takes a drag of her cigarette, turning her attention to the girls running around in the grass. “I love the lightning bugs. Used to run around for hours catching them as a kid.”

“We don’t really have them back home,” Billy says, and he doesn’t completely know why he says it; but he feels lighter somehow, after spending the day surrounded by these people who’ve inexplicably accepted him, watching Steve smile and laugh like he hasn’t seen him do in weeks.

“You miss it?” She asks.

“All the time,” he nods. “You ever been?”

“Oh, no.” She shakes her head. “I was born here, grew up here...I’ll probably die here.”

“You never wanted to leave?” He raises an eyebrow at her as she meets his eyes again.

“No,” she shakes her head. “I mean, maybe a little bit when I was younger. But it never lasted.”

“Why?” He asks.

“Hawkins is home,” she answers, as if it’s just that fucking simple. “Sure, sometimes I think this place could make me crazy. But it’s familiar, and it’s home. My home, my boys’ home. I wouldn’t want to take them away from that. From…this. Y’know?” She gestures to the girls, and then back to the house, and Billy nods in understanding, his heart clenching painfully in his chest. If he had something like this, he’d probably stay in a shithole like Hawkins for it, too.

“I know we don’t know you very well yet, Billy,” she says, expression serious now. “But I hope you know that you’ll always have a place here.” Emotion catches in Billy’s throat and he swallows thickly around it, completely caught off guard by her words. He feels the urge to brush it off, put up a front of indifference, act like what she’s said isn’t a bulldozer colliding with the carefully constructed walls he’s built out of sheer desperation for self-preservation. But he doesn’t succumb to the urge. He averts his gaze, watching plumes of smoke fall from his lips and curl around his knees, and lets her words wash over him for a moment.

“Why?” He asks at length, still staring at his knees, jaw clenching and unclenching as he fights back the urge to cry.

“There’s a lot of scary shit in this world,” she answers. “And we all deserve a safe haven.” He wonders how much she knows about the monsters that Billy lives with, both inside his head and inside his home. Normally he’d be embarrassed, scared even, to find out that maybe someone knows about the secrets he’s been holding tight since he was six and his father hit him for the very first time. But it feels freeing, in the way same that it had felt freeing when he admitted it to Steve for the first time. He looks up at her, and she’s still got the same serious look on her face, but it’s not pitying in that way he was expecting it to be. It’s an expression that tells him that she _gets_ it, in ways she’s not anymore comfortable admitting than he is, and that eases the tightness in his throat. He nods and she smiles at him again, a little sad but mostly comforting.

“Billy!” Max calls his name suddenly, running up to them and holding out her cupped hands.

“What’s up, kiddo?” He asks, coughing a couple times to clear his throat. She opens her hands just enough to let him see the little bug curled up against her palm, its butt lighting up and dimming in a slow rhythm.

“Isn’t it cool?” She responds, beaming.

“Pretty fucking cool,” he says, smiling back at her.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” she says.

“Photuris pyralis,” Dustin’s voice says from where he’s popped his head out the backdoor.

“What?” Max looks up at him, face scrunched up in confusion.

“That’s their scientific name,” he says, stepping out onto the porch. “Some people call them fireflies, too.”

“I like lightning bug,” she says matter-of-factly and he goes into a long-winded explanation of why “firefly” is clearly the superior name for them. Billy checks out at that point, finishing his cigarette and ashing it on the concrete before getting up and joining Jane and Holly in the grass. He has to admit, it’s pretty damn cool to see so many of the little fuckers floating around inside that jar; making it light up like a lantern. Holly hands it to him and runs off in search of more lightning bugs to bring back.

He watches as the lightning bugs illuminate the jar, hypnotized slightly by the way the rhythm of their lights sync up with each other. Jane kneels down beside him and reaches a hand out for the jar. He hands it over and she uncaps it, holding it up and watching as the lightning bugs fly out. His eyes follow them as they fly up into the night sky and then drop back down to Jane, eyebrow raised.

“Free.” She says, smiling, and he smiles back, feeling light in a way he’s not sure he’s ever felt before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took me for-fucking-ever to get into and work out, but I enjoyed writing it quite a bit. I hope you enjoyed reading it!
> 
> As per usual, your comments, input, insights, etc., motivate me and make me indescribably happy. ^_^
> 
> Thank you to every one of you who has stuck it out this far! You're the real MVPs.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (◕‿◕✿)

The sun’s been down for quite a while when Mrs. Wheeler steps out onto the back porch and calls for Holly, who’s fallen asleep on Billy’s leg where he’s still sat in the grass with Jane and Dustin. He and Dustin have been discussing the individual merits of all thirteen dwarves in The Hobbit for at least thirty minutes now, and Jane’s been listening intently. Surprisingly, they’ve agreed on most points, though Billy thinks at times Dustin’s agreement comes a little begrudgingly.

“Holly, honey, come on!” Mrs. Wheeler calls again and Billy looks down at the little girl drooling onto his jeans. She’s out cold, not stirring even a little bit at the sound of her mom’s voice. He chuckles and reaches a hand down to shake her shoulder gently.

“Holly,” he whispers, but she still doesn’t move. He looks up at the other two kids, and Dustin shrugs.

“She’s a heavy sleeper,” he says. “We used to make loads of noise while she napped as a baby. She’s not going to wake up.” Billy nods in understanding and wraps his hands around her arms, hauling her into his own arms and standing up. He walks over to the porch and Mrs. Wheeler’s smile is disconcertingly pleased as she reaches her arms out to take her daughter from him.

“Thanks, Billy.” She says, adjusting the dead-weight that is her four-year-old over her shoulder. She reaches out a hand to squeeze his arm and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from making a face, smiling back at her instead.

“No problem, Karen.” He responds, and god it’s embarrassing how easily she blushes even when he’s not trying all that hard to lay on the charm. She disappears back inside and he catches a glimpse of Steve standing in the kitchen with Max through the open door. They look like they’re talking about something serious, Steve’s bottom lip sucked into his mouth as he nods along to whatever Max is saying. Mrs. Henderson steps into the doorway, blocking Billy’s view, and startles when she notices him standing there.

“Oh, hi,” she gives an awkward little wave and then looks over his shoulder toward the yard. “Is Dustin out here?”

“Yeah,” Billy nods, shoving a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of where he’d left Jane and Dustin.

“Dusty!” Mrs. Henderson calls. “Time to go!” A second later Dustin is emerging from the yard, Jane close at his side. He looks up at Billy briefly as he passes him, heading into the house.

“Don’t think this conversation is over, Hargrove.” He says, squinting up at the older boy.

“Oh, we’ll definitely be continuing this, Henderson.” Billy responds, and Dustin nods once before following his mom back into the house. Jane glances at him, small smile on her lips, and then goes into the house herself. Billy watches the door close behind her and feels the familiar itch for a cigarette. He takes the nearly empty carton out of his pocket and pulls one out, placing it between his lips while he returns the pack and fishes out his lighter. The back door creaks open as he takes a seat on the steps, and his heart does a little flip in his chest when he glances to his left to find Steve taking a seat beside him.

“Hey,” Billy greets him quietly.

“Hey,” Steve nods as he wraps his arms around himself self-consciously, knee knocking against Billy’s. “So, Max was telling me that she and Susan haven’t had a chance to get up to Indianapolis since Neil’s stroke.”  Billy blinks at him uncertainly for several seconds. He doesn’t know what he expected when Steve came out and sat beside him, but it definitely wasn’t that.

“Apparently funds have been a little tight? And Susan’s not a fan of driving that far alone, so I was thinking…” Steve continues, soft, brown eyes meeting Billy’s and turning his insides into molten lava. “Do you think she would be too embarrassed to accept an offer from me, to take them up there?”

“Uh…” Billy starts to shake his head. “You really don’t have to-”

“I want to,” Steve cuts him off. “Seriously. Max deserves to see her grandma, and it sounds like Susan could use a break, too.” The warmth in Billy’s chest moves up into his cheeks and he has to look away for a minute, putting the cigarette to his lips to take a drag in an attempt to not give away how gone he is for the other boy. There really is no end to Steve’s goodness, is there?

“Okay,” he concedes at length, looking at Steve again. “I don’t know how she’ll feel about it, but let me talk to her. She’s less likely to be embarrassed if it comes from me.”

“Sure,” Steve nods. “I know we’ve got graduation next Saturday, but I was thinking maybe the week after that?”

“Okay,” Billy nods back. “I’ll talk to her, see what she says.”

“Cool,” Steve nods again. They sit in a tense silence for a while, Billy finishing his cigarette and Steve tapping his thumb against his knee. The increasingly familiar ache of missing Steve throbs beneath Billy’s skin, and he wracks his brain for absolutely anything that would aid him in continuing a conversation with the other boy. Talking to Steve had been so easy before, but he’s really done his damnedest to fuck that up, hasn’t he? He’s starting to question exactly why. He knows that it made sense in his head at one point. He told himself that Steve was a distraction, a roadblock between him and the future he’s been working toward, but he’s not so sure about that anymore. Nothing at home has been any easier since he shut Steve out, it’s just been a hell of a lot more lonely.

But here Steve is despite it all, with his makeshift family and his excessive kindness, extending an olive branch of sorts, giving Billy a second chance like he somehow deserves it. He doesn’t. But he really, really wants to.

“Steve,” he says, heart skipping a beat when Steve meets his eyes curiously. “Thank you.” Steve raises an eyebrow in confusion and Billy draws in a deep, shaky breath before continuing.

“For real,” he says. “Max told me how you helped them out when I skipped town. I know you didn’t do it for me, but I’m grateful anyhow. And I never said it. So, I’m saying it now…Thank you.”

“You know,” Steve replies, glancing down at his knees and picking at a loose thread where his jeans have worn down over them. “I didn’t do it _just_ for you, but I did do it for you, too.” He looks back up at Billy, a lopsided, somewhat sad smile on his face. And there it is again. That look in his eyes that Billy doesn’t know how to interpret, or maybe he doesn’t want to interpret because it scares him a little bit.

It takes him back to prom night, to that moment where he’d reached for Steve and that same look had been in his eyes. Like there are all of these things beneath the surface that Steve won’t say, but he wants Billy to guess them, hoping he’ll somehow know what they are. Billy doesn't know what those things are, but the small part of him that still holds hope has some ideas that make his palms sweat and his mouth go dry. He still isn’t sure exactly what he had intended to do that night, but it’s very possible he may have ended up kissing Steve if Julie hadn’t interrupted them. He’s thought of little else in relation to Steve since then.

It’s all he can think about now.

It’s terrifying. Billy knows that he’s been head over heels for Steve for a while, that he never really stood a chance against those feelings. But he’s spent so much of his life telling himself that he can’t want someone in that way, because the only people he’s ever wanted like that have been boys, and boys don’t like other boys like that. He’s kissed one boy in his life, and he can still remember the feeling of the cracked ribs and the shame of embarrassing his father that he earned for it.

Steve’s eyes fall from his eyes down to his lips for the briefest of seconds, but Billy doesn’t miss a single one of them. His breath catches in his throat, hope sparking in his chest, and Steve’s eyes shoot back up to his eyes again, a light dusting of pink tinting his cheeks. He’s clearly embarrassed, and Billy thinks it’s the sweetest thing.

“Billy!” Max shouts from the kitchen and then the screen door is creaking open as she opens it behind them. Billy curses at her in his head, and he’s pretty sure Steve gives a half-roll of his eyes as they turn to look up at her.

“What’s up?” Billy asks.

“It’s fifteen to nine.” Max answers.

“Shit,” Billy hops up from his place beside Steve and heads up the steps.

“Let me know what Susan says,” Steve says quickly, standing up himself.

“Will do,” Billy turns back to him, smiling just the tiniest bit. Steve smiles back, and god he’s so beautiful when he smiles. Billy loves his smile. His heartbeat kicks up in his chest at the sight of it, and goddamnit Max…

He follows her inside to say goodbye to anyone who’s still around, which ends up being just the Byers’ and the Hoppers. Joyce reminds him that he’s welcome any time and sends them home with some leftovers.

“I told him not to ask,” Max says as they pull out of the Byers’ driveway, and Billy glances at her with an eyebrow raised. “About Indianapolis. I mean, he originally wanted to offer to stay with Neil so we could all get away for a while…”

“Jesus…” Billy feels a strange mixture of absolute panic at the very idea, and warmth at the knowledge that Steve was thinking about what he might need, too.

“But I told him that was a big fat no,” Max continues. “So then he asked about just taking me and mom. I told him it was a bad idea.”

“I’m not mad,” Billy responds honestly.

“Okay,” he can see her nodding out of the corner of his eye. “I just…I know you said Neil doesn’t want him around, so I didn’t want you to think I was ignoring that or something.”

“I think it’ll be good,” Billy says, taking a second to meet her eyes as he comes to a stop at an intersection. “You both deserve a break.”

“So do you,” Max replies quietly, and Billy looks back at the road, feeling a bit like a fish out of water in the face of such a sentiment. He already got his break, when he abandoned them the night of Neil’s stroke. After everything he’s put them through, not just since Neil’s stroke but since they came into his life, this is the least he can do. Even if it means spending an entire day with his father, who will no doubt be furious over the idea of Steve driving Susan and Max to Indianapolis.

-

Steve’s parents never check the mail, and since he spent all weekend at the Byers, Monday morning is the first chance he’s had to check it since Friday. His heart is in his throat when he finds two letters from two different colleges mixed into the veritable mountain of mail awaiting him. One is from University of Chicago, the other from UCLA. His fingers tremble as he closes the mailbox and makes his way back up to the house. He’d woken up at five o’clock with a tight feeling in his chest that he couldn’t shake no matter how many lights he turned on in his room. So he decided to go on a run to get out some of that uneasy energy. It had worked, but the uneasiness is coming back with a vengeance now. He closes the door behind him and heads into the kitchen to get some water.

His mom is sitting at the table when he walks in, reading the newspaper and taking small, distracted sips of her coffee. She looks up when he sets the other letters on the table in front of her before going to the fridge.

“Are those letters what I think they are?” She asks, eyes bright and way too optimistic as she glances at the unopened envelopes in his hand.

“If you’re thinking they’re acceptance letters,” he says, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge and turning back around to face her. “Then maybe. That, or they’re rejection letters.”

“Well, c’mon then, open them.” She sets the newspaper aside and rests her chin on her palm, watching him expectantly. He hesitates for a moment. This isn’t exactly how he wanted to do this, but maybe it’s best this way; with her expecting answers, he can’t just refuse to open them out of anxiety, throw them in a pile on his desk, and forget about them. He sets the water bottle down on the counter and rips into the first letter without another thought. His eyes scan the page quickly, heart in his throat again, and relief pours over him as he reads the word “accepted”, and right above it - the logo for University of Chicago. It’s definitely one of his top choices. In part because it’s a prestigious school, but it really has more to do with the fact that it’s only a state over. So it’s not technically in Indiana, but it’s not so far away that coming back to visit will be too difficult.

After everything that happened in the Fall he’d been ready to say goodbye to Hawkins and never look back, but then these past few months happened, and he’s come to realize how much he relies on the people here and how much he’s going to miss them when he leaves. Being a little closer than originally intended wouldn’t be the worst thing, in fact it would be ideal.

He realizes belatedly that he hasn’t actually said anything out loud to let his mom know what it says, but she’s grinning from ear to ear when he looks up at her. He must look relieved enough that she can tell it’s good.

“Chicago,” he explains, holding the letter up and smiling.

“That’s great!” She cheers, lifting her arms up in celebration. “What about the other one?” He hesitates, thinking briefly that he doesn’t even want to know. He’s happy enough with Chicago, he doesn’t need another choice. Still, he sets down the Chicago letter and picks up the one from UCLA. Ripping this one open feels somehow more daunting, and something clenches in his chest when his eyes land on the word “accepted” again.

UCLA wasn’t one of his top choices, he hadn’t even applied there until April. He’d never really considered the West Coast until he befriended Billy and heard all of his stories about California. He kind of always imagined ending up on the East Coast if he didn’t stay close to home, but something about the way Billy talked about California had sparked a fascination with the place and he spent a couple of weeks researching schools and applying, thinking it was a long shot but still worth a try.

It’s embarrassing, but he’s aware that at least a small part of his motivation came from hoping he’d end up in the same place as Billy. At the time he chalked it up to his isolation and feeling like Billy was the only real friend he had. But he knows better now.

God, how long had his feelings for Billy actually been simmering beneath the surface unnoticed?

His mom’s face falls as she watches him, deducing from his reaction that it must be a rejection, and he tries to recover, offering a lopsided smile and holding it up.

“UCLA,” he says. “I got accepted.”

“That’s…good?” She asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“No, yeah,” he forces his face into something closer to excitement. “Of course.” She smiles back and gives a little cheer again.

“Well, this is exciting!” She exclaims. “I told you the acceptance letters would come. And just in time for graduation, too.”

“Yeah,” he nods, forcing another smile before collecting both letters and the water bottle he’d pulled out of the fridge in his hands and heading out of the room.

“I’m proud of you!” She calls after him, and he waves a hand in acknowledgment.

Once in his room, he throws the letters onto his desk and falls face first onto his bed, groaning loudly. Nothing in his life can ever be straightforward or easy, can it?

“What do you want?” Nancy’s words taunt him as he lies there, wishing the bedsheets would smother him. What does he want?

He used to want a life with Nancy. Then he wanted to get as far away from Hawkins as possible. Now? He really doesn’t know.

He wants his mattress to swallow him whole, to drag him down into some oblivion where none of this shit matters.

He startles at the sound of something crashing downstairs and his head shoots up off the bed, glancing at his open door as his heart rate picks up. The hiss of running water soon follows and he flips over on the bed, letting out the breath he'd been holding in and staring up at the ceiling as he talks himself down from a panic. _Mom probably just dropped something, it’s nothing to be afraid of._

He wants to be able to sleep at night. He wants to stop worrying every time the lights flicker. He wants to get rid of that damn bat in the trunk of his car, and the matching one that’s lived under his bed ever since he made it during Christmas break. He wants to stop feeling both desperate and terrified to leave Hawkins, knowing the horrors that lie just beneath the surface of its small, sleepy facade. What if something happens? He’d be too far away to help.

Then there’s the thought that if Hawkins has this many demons to combat, what’s to say a city like Chicago or Los Angeles doesn’t have even more? How the hell would he stand a chance against that without an Eleven, or a Hopper, or a Dustin?

That’s not even taking into account the horrors of impending adulthood.

He could get away, go to Chicago and major in some obscure subject. He’d come home every couple of months for Holidays or just to check up on the shitheads, make sure Dustin’s staying in line, and tell everyone about life in the big city. He’d stumble his way through four more years of school all on his own…and then what?

There’s this whole life stretched out in front of him, and he has no fucking clue what to do with it.

It’s difficult to be excited for the future when all it looks like is a hell of a lot of lonely nights spent with the lights on, his only companion a baseball bat that he has to hide in the closet so his RA doesn’t find it and think he’s some kind of psycho killer.

He wants one clear choice, so clear that it’s not really even a choice, it’s just the natural answer to the question. The question being: what the fuck comes next?

-

With finals out of the way, going to class during the last week of school is more of a formality than anything else. Steve spends the first couple of days staring absentmindedly out classroom windows, thinking about literally anything other than what the teacher’s actually saying. It’s not like it matters, anyway. He sits with Nancy and Jonathan during lunch each day, feeling oddly nostalgic about it despite the fact that he’s spent most of the school year avoiding them. It's a weird feeling, knowing that after this week he'll never do any of this again.

On Wednesday, Nancy spends the first half of lunch giving him all the reasons Chicago is the obvious choice for University over a mountain of pudding cups that he’d charmed out of the lunch lady, Moira. None of her reasons are anything he hasn’t already thought of, but her enthusiasm alone is almost enough to convince him.  
He's eating his third pudding cup and listening to Jonathan talk about the meaning behind Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five when the usual drawl of the lunchroom is interrupted by a loud exclamation of “FOOD FIGHT!”

And before he even has a chance to process what’s happening, he’s got an ear full of mashed potato, muffling out the shrill screams of his classmates as all hell breaks loose around him. He whips around to find Billy standing a few tables over, hand covered in mashed potato and smirking at him, challenging him, while Tommy H. claps him on the shoulder and cheers. Steve grabs a pudding cup off the table, yanking the lid off quickly, and chucks it at Billy’s chest. It’s admittedly not his best move, Billy has plenty of time to react, the pudding cup barely grazing his left side as he jumps out of the way. He snags a bowl of chili from the table beside him and throws it at Steve, clipping him on the shoulder. Billy cups his hand over his mouth, letting out a loud cackle, as Nancy shrieks behind Steve and he turns to see chili spilled all down the front of her shirt, the bowl in her lap. Her face is bright red as she gives Billy an outright death glare. Steve hasn’t seen her look that pissed off since they were fighting the demogorgon in Jonathan’s living room.

She rips the lids off of about five or six pudding cups and gathers them into her arms, standing up on the bench and chucking them directly at Billy’s head. Billy’s too distracted laughing to notice the first one, which hits him square in the nose, and he has no time to react before pudding cup number two and three are smacking him in the ear and then the chin. He ducks for the fourth and then catches the fifth. Nancy’s fast, ducking behind Steve just as the pudding cup sails over his head. Nancy hops back up and chucks one final pudding cup at Billy’s head, and Steve snorts when a fat glob of pudding lands right in Billy’s hair. Billy does a pretty good job of looking unbothered, refusing to give Nancy the satisfaction. Instead he reaches a hand up to his head, running his fingers through the pudding, and then drops it to his mouth, giving her the middle finger as he draws his tongue over it, lapping up the pudding. Steve’s brain short circuits. Billy grins, devilish and all-too-pleased with himself, and then a piece of pizza hits him in the side of the face, knocking the look right off his face as he turns to figure out who threw it. Steve takes the opportunity to steal some mashed potatoes from a nearby table and rush at him. His hand connects with the top of Billy’s head before Billy even realizes he’s there, smooshing mashed potatoes in with the chocolate pudding. He may yank on a curl as he drops his hand, but he’s not admitting to anything. Billy’s eyes are full of fire when he turns to Steve, and then they go wide when he realizes it’s Steve, like he genuinely wasn’t expecting it to be him. Steve grins and reaches a hand up to wipe the remnants of mashed potato off of his hand and onto Billy’s shirt.

His hand ends up grazing Billy’s bare chest, because the damn guy doesn’t understand what buttons are for, and it’s really loud in here, but Steve’s pretty sure he hears Billy’s breath catch. He looks up at Billy, who’s watching him with this intensity that Steve hasn’t seen since prom night. He catches Steve’s wrist and squeezes it, eyes not leaving Steve’s for a second, and Steve’s heart pounds furiously in his chest as he stares back. He’s completely distracted by the feeling of Billy’s fingers pressed into his wrist, his face close enough that he can practically feel Billy’s breath on his face, so he doesn’t see Billy’s other hand picking up a stray bowl of chili, and it barely registers that the bowl of chili is being poured all over his head. The chili drips down through his hair and into his eyes, and he lets out a yelp, trying to yank his hand free of Billy’s grip, but Billy tightens his grip, keeping him close, and rubs the chili into his hair until the excess is dripping down onto his collar.

Steve glares at him and Billy grins back smugly. He looks ridiculous, hair all matted down with mashed potatoes and pudding, his nose still has remnants of pudding on it, and the side of his face has a nice sheen to it from the grease of the pizza that had smacked him there. He looks impossibly young, all covered in food and grinning like a petulant child. Billy’s the kind of guy who always carries himself with such confidence, like he knows all there is to know about the world and its hardships and he’s not afraid to face them head-on. Steve’s well aware that it’s a front, because he knows Billy, has seen the side of him that’s just a scared kid like himself, but it’s been a while. The carefree, pleased look in Billy’s eyes makes his heart skip painfully in his chest. The first time he ever saw that look on Billy’s face, he decided Billy should never look any other way, and he still thinks it now.  
He really wants to kiss Billy, thinks maybe he would if they weren’t surrounded on all sides by other students. One of which, he reminds himself bitterly, is Billy’s girlfriend.  
Instead, he smiles back, which seems to shift Billy’s grin into a full-blown smile, and suddenly they’re both laughing. The chaos continues around them, food flying back and forth just beyond Billy’s head while boys let out war cries and girls scream bloody murder. It’s total anarchy, and Billy’s laugh is contagious and beautiful, and there’s something happy and content unfurling in Steve’s chest.

He moves to clutch his stomach as he laughs and realizes that Billy’s still got ahold of his wrist. Their laughter comes to a halt as Billy’s eyes drop to their hands, and he lets go, shoving both of his hands into his pockets like he’s scared of what they might do if he doesn’t. His smile falters a bit too, but Steve refuses to let it ruin the moment, so he just keeps smiling back.

The vice principal starts shouting through a megaphone at everyone, threatening detention for any person who throws one more particle of food, and everything comes to an abrupt stop then. There’s something comical about the silence that follows as food drips off of walls and students alike.

They never do figure out who started the fight. The assumption is that it was a senior and anyone that saw exactly who it was refuses to tattle. So, as punishment, the entire senior class is forced to spend the afternoon cleaning up the lunchroom. Scrubbing dried pudding off of chair legs isn’t exactly Steve’s idea of a good time, but then he finds a half-empty carton of milk and pours it all over Billy’s head right after the other boy’s managed to get most of the pudding and mashed potato out of his hair. The look of complete shock and horror on Billy’s face as the milk trickles down his hairline and coats his eyelashes is almost enough to make up for it. Billy proceeds to spend the rest of the afternoon throwing chunks of food that he finds stuck to walls and tables at Steve’s head in retaliation. It’s childish, and they get yelled at by the lunch ladies several times for it, but Steve likes having Billy’s attention on him.

-

“Max told me you got into Berkeley,” Steve says from where he’s sat beside Billy in the auditorium, and Billy quirks an eyebrow at him in response. It’s Friday afternoon and they’re running through a final rehearsal for graduation. Hargrove and Harrington fit right next to each other in the alphabetical lineup of last names, so of course they ended up sitting together. Steve’s slouching in his chair, elbow digging into the armrest between them while his chin is resting on his hand. He’s been pouting up at the stage for the last ten minutes, and Billy’s been sneaking glances at him every few seconds. He can’t help it, there’s something inexplicably adorable about Steve when he’s displaying this level of disinterest.

“I just wanted to say congrats. I know that was your top choice.” Steve continues, smiling for the first time since they sat down, but there’s something off about his voice as he speaks.

An uncomfortable concoction of bitterness, frustration, and warmth curls around Billy’s chest and squeezes. Steve’s words take him back to the last time they had a real conversation, walking through the streets of Indianapolis, trying to find their way back to his car after wearing themselves out in a game of basketball. They’d talked about college a few times, it was a natural topic to fall back on while in the library, surrounded by textbooks and pencils; but it was always hypothetical. Steve talked about the five or six he’d applied to, and Billy mentioned Berkeley once or twice alongside a few other schools in California, trying to seem blasé about it. That afternoon it had felt different, though. Billy was still riding the high of a good game and Steve looked so exhausted but cute, hair all messed up from being pushed back out of his face by sweaty hands and cheeks still red from exertion.

He’d been quiet ever since they said goodbye to the other guys at the basketball court, and Billy didn’t know how to interpret it, but he tried to fill the silence anyway by rambling about whatever came to mind. It just so happened that college was what came to mind, so he started talking about Berkeley. He admitted his desperation to get in, and it felt like he was sharing a piece of himself that he’d never shared with anyone else. Not even Max knew about his plan to go until she found his acceptance letter in the mail. He honestly couldn’t be sure if Steve was listening all that closely, because he seemed distracted, but it’s obvious he was paying attention, and that he cared enough to remember it even now.

“Oh, uh,” Billy goes for a shrug, mentally shaking himself out of the memory. “Yeah…Thanks.” He bites back the urge to admit that he’s not sure he’ll actually be going anymore.

“You don’t seem too thrilled?” Steve asks, squinting at him curiously.

“Nah, I mean…” Billy shrugs again. “I am, of course. Got a full scholarship and everything. Planning to spend the summer saving up enough to get out there, and come fall…I’m gone.” Steve’s expression falls at that, and he looks back up at the stage where Mr. Keller is taking way too much time explaining how to stand up and walk across a stage in alphabetical order.

“What about you?” Billy asks, because he can’t just leave it at that; he needs to know that Steve has somewhere to go, too.

“I have a few places,” Steve answers, keeping his eyes on the stage as he shrugs. “Probably gonna go with Chicago, though.”

“Chicago? That’s great.” Billy nods, smiling and trying to ignore the growing lump in his throat. Steve nods back, glancing at Billy again, but his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes before he drops his gaze to his lap.

“Right?” Billy taps his arm with his elbow.

“Yeah,” Steve nods again. “It’s cool, Chicago’s probably my top choice and I got in…”

“But?” Billy presses, tapping his arm again, prompting Steve to finally look up at him. His eyes seem to be searching Billy’s for a moment, and then he just shakes his head, lips contorted in a half-grin, half-grimace, as if he’s heard a bad joke.

“Nothing,” he says. “Chicago’s great. It’s not Indiana, but I can still come home pretty often, so…Yeah, it’s good.”

“You’re full of shit, Harrington,” Billy purses his lips, giving Steve a skeptical look.

“You’re one to talk, Hargrove.” Steve replies, the amused smile on his lips actually meeting his eyes this time. Billy shoves his arm with his elbow, laughing when the force of it knocks Steve’s arm right out from under his chin and he nearly face-plants into the armrest. Several of their classmates turn to glare at them or see what all the fuss is about, and Billy shrugs like he’s not involved, rolling his index finger around his ear as if to say “He’s crazy” while Steve rights himself in his chair. He’s beet-red when Billy looks at him again, still chuckling, and Steve glares back for several beats before rolling his eyes and turning his attention back to the stage. Billy counts it as a win though when he spots the slightest upturn of Steve’s lips a second later.

-

Rehearsal takes a little longer than expected, but they’re finally let out about thirty minutes after the rest of the school. Steve doesn’t really question it when Billy follows him out into the parking lot. It’s weird how normal it feels, despite the weeks of distance between them. He wants to know what’s changed all the sudden, but he’s not about to ask and potentially scare Billy off again.

All the nerds are gathered around Steve’s Beemer when they get to it. Eleven and Lucas are sitting on the hood with their legs crossed, playing a game of cards, while the other boys are bent over the pavement, watching Max draw an elaborate map with a piece of chalk she probably stole from a classroom.

“I’m supposed to take these shitheads to the arcade,” Steve says as he comes to a stop in front of Will and turns to look at Billy. “You wanna come with?”  
“Can’t,” Billy shakes his head.

“Let me guess, you’ve got a date with Jill?” Lucas interjects mockingly, because he’s got that obnoxious little brother act down pat. Steve feels something ugly twist in his gut at the mention of Billy’s girlfriend. Like he really needs the reminder.

“Nah,” Billy shakes his head again at Lucas and glances at Steve, blush creeping into his cheeks.

“Why not?” Eleven asks in that innocent way she always does.  
“We...” Billy stops himself and worries at his bottom lip for a second, as if trying to think of the right words. “Me and Jill aren’t like...a thing, anymore.”

“Oh,” Steve says dumbly, heart skipping a beat. He knows Billy being available again doesn’t make him available to _him_ , but that doesn’t stop him from feeling relief at the revelation.

“Not sad?” Eleven asks, tilting her head slightly as she looks up at Billy.

“Uh...” Billy flounders, face flushing again. “Nah, I mean, it’s cool. We weren’t really serious, y’know? It was mutual.”

“I see,” Eleven nods. “So come with us.”

“I can’t,” Billy replies. “I actually have to work.”

“Work?” Steve asks, glad for the change of subject.

“At Marsh,” Billy answers. “Started a couple weeks ago.” Steve can’t stop the smile that forms on his lips at the idea of Billy in one of those black aprons, bagging up groceries while he flirts with all the lonely housewives in this town.

“Some of us like to work for our money, Harrington.” Billy bites out at Steve’s apparent amusement.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Hargrove,” Steve rolls his eyes. “C’mon, the idea of you in an apron, taking people’s shit is pretty fucking funny.”

“Fuck off,” Billy flips him off, but there’s mirth in his eyes. Steve feels a flutter in his stomach and lets out a laugh. It’s disconcerting, how easily flustered he is around Billy now. He’s always felt a little flustered around Billy, but he assumed it was because he wanted the other boy to like him. Now he knows it’s because he’s got a big, fat, embarrassingly intense crush on him, and that only makes him feel _more_ flustered. He turns his attention to the nerds still bent over the pavement in order to distract himself from those thoughts.

“Hey, shitheads!” he shouts. “Let’s get this show on the road!” They all look up at once, surprise on their faces, like they didn’t even realize he’d been standing there. Mike stands up straight first, hauling his backpack over his shoulder.

“Finally,” he says, stepping over to the Beemer and reaching a hand out for Eleven. “We’ll meet you over there. C’mon, El.” She hands her cards to Lucas and takes Mike’s hand, hopping down from the hood. Mike doesn’t let go as he leads her away with Will trailing behind them. They walk over to Jonathan’s car, where Nancy and Jonathan’s silhouettes can be seen through the back window. They must have been waiting this whole time, too.

Dustin, Lucas, and Max all pile into Steve’s car, Dustin getting into the passenger seat, and Steve walks over to the driver’s side. He realizes that Billy’s still standing in front of the car, lighting up a cigarette between his lips.

“See you tomorrow?” He asks, and Billy nods in response, puffing on the cigarette a few times and smiling, tendrils of smoke falling from of his nose and lips.

“Curfew’s ten,” he says, pointing at Max in the backseat and she flips him off.

“Roger that,” Steve gives him a mock-salute and gets in the car. He watches as Billy walks away, toward his Camaro, and only realizes he’s been staring for an abnormally long time when Dustin clears his throat beside him.

“You guys are friends again?” Dustin asks and Steve fumbles with the keys for a second, trying and failing several times to get the right one in the ignition.

“Uh, kind of?” he replies. “I don’t know.” He looks over his shoulder, checking for anyone behind him before backing out, and his eyes land on Max’s face for a second. Her expression is unreadable, but Steve thinks there’s some level of amusement in her eyes. He turns back to the road and shifts into drive, trying to shake off the unease that’s settling over him.

He thinks back to that conversation he had with Dustin, wherein Dustin basically called out his crush on Billy without saying as much. He’s a pretty perceptive kid, and so is Max. Steve can’t help wondering if maybe she can see it, too. And if she has picked up on it, what does she think about it?

Dustin had been so open and kind about it, Steve’s hardly had a chance to consider what the other nerds might think about him if they knew. It shouldn’t matter, really, because it’s not like anything will ever come of this crush he has on Billy. But it does matter. Not just because he’s got a crush on Billy, but because he may have crushes on other guys someday. He considers all of them like family, and what they think of him matters. The last thing he wants is for them to think less of him, for any reason, but especially this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I re-wrote and rearranged this chapter so many. fucking. times. I really hope you like it.
> 
> Your comments and input are what keep me going. So thank you very much!
> 
> If anyone wants to talk at me about this fic or just Billy and Steve in general, I finally made a side blog where I intend to keep all my Harringrove shit. It's [blahblahblaharringrove](https://blahblahblaharringrove.tumblr.com). Come say hi! :)


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god this chapter took me for-fucking-ever to write. But here it is finally.
> 
> I'm not sorry.

“Maxine!” Neil is yelling from the doorway of the living room when Billy walks through the front door on Saturday morning. He’s just getting home from an early shift at the grocery store, where he spent all morning unloading the truck and stocking shelves; so he’s exhausted and he needs to shower and he’s got to be at the school in thirty minutes for graduation. The last thing he wants to deal with is another outburst from his father.

“Billy, please move this shit out of my way.” Neil says as soon as he spots him, gesturing at a pile of library books wedged beneath the wheel of his chair.

“Yes, sir,” Billy nods quickly and kneels down in front his father, pushing his chair back slightly to dislodge the books. He rearranges them into a messy stack before standing up and handing them to Max, who’s now standing just behind Neil.

“Honestly, Maxine,” Neil twists around to look up at her. “How many times do I have to tell you to keep your goddamn books off of the floor?”

“I’m sorry, Neil.” She says quietly, though she sounds anything but sorry as she clutches her books to her chest. Neil lets out a huff of irritation and reaches his hands down to the wheels of his chair, maneuvering over to the couch. Billy reflexively moves to help him but Neil just holds up a hand, telling him to stop. The doctors have been encouraging him to get up and move around on his own more, but it’s hard for Billy to watch. He’s become so used to helping and it’s obvious how difficult it still is for Neil.

“Do you need anything, pop?” He asks, watching his father struggle to set the brake with trembling hands and then stand up on shaky, weak legs.

“No,” Neil answers with a labored breath as he takes tentative steps to the couch, reaching a hand out to clutch at the armrest as soon as he can reach it.

“Okay, well, I’ve got to be at the school in thirty,” Billy says. “So I’ve got to get ready. But just holler if you need me.”

“I’m perfectly capable of helping myself, Billy.” Neil bites back and Billy represses an eye-roll.

“Course, pops.” He responds before heading into the kitchen, where he finds Max dumping coffee grounds into the coffee maker. “Is Susan home?”

“She’s still in bed,” she answers.

“Are you guys still coming to graduation?” Billy asks, grabbing the hem of his shirt to pull it off.

“Yeah,” Max nods, taking the coffee pot over to the sink and making a face when she realizes Billy’s just standing in the kitchen with his t-shirt in his hands. “Jesus, can’t you wait till you get to your room at least?” Billy just flips her off and heads to the bathroom to take that desperately needed shower.

By the time he’s all cleaned up and dressed in the button-up and slacks Susan made him buy for graduation, Susan is sitting at the kitchen table with Max, a cup of coffee and a pile of bobby pins at the ready. Both of them are wearing dresses usually reserved for special Sunday occasions, and Susan is carefully brushing the tangles out of Max’s rat’s nest of hair.

“You hungry, Billy?” Susan asks, glancing up at him when he approaches the chair next to her, where she’s laid out his cap and gown. “I’m about to make us some lunch.”

“Nah, I’m already running late,” he shakes his head, throwing the gown over his arm and taking the cap in hand.

“Okay,” She nods. “Well, we’ll see you there.”

“See ya,” he nods back and heads for the front door.

“Billy,” Neil pipes up from where he’s sat on the couch as Billy picks up his keys from the table by the door.

“Yes, sir?” He asks, turning to face his father. He’d never admit it, but there’s a part of him that’s hoping just this once his father will acknowledge what a big day this is. Ever since he was young, Neil’s been hammering into him the importance of school and, while he likes to tell himself that all of his determination to do well in school came from a place of desperation to get out of his father’s house, he knows there’s a part of him that did it for his approval. There’s very little Billy has done in his life that’s worthy of his father’s pride, but he always hoped graduating with a 4.0 GPA would be one. And with getting out looking like less of a possibility, it kind of feels like Neil’s approval is all he’s got to hope for right now.

“You can’t graduate with an untied tie,” Neil responds and Billy follows his gaze down to the necktie hanging loosely around his neck. “Make sure you fix that before you walk.”

“Yes, sir,” Billy answers and continues to hold his gaze, waiting, for a dismissal or maybe something else, he’s not really sure.

“You’re going to be late,” Neil says after a beat of silence. Billy nods, pressure building behind his eyes as he tells himself not to cry. _Goddamnit. It’ll never be enough, will it?_

“See you there,” he says over his shoulder as he walks out the door and heads to his car. Once inside, he gives himself a moment to let a few tears fall from his eyes, fingers digging into the steering wheel until they leave crescent-shaped indents in the foam. He can hear his father’s voice in his head telling him to “stop being such a pussy” and “man up”, but that kind of thing never really worked when it was being yelled in his face and it’s definitely not going to work now. He hates crying, hates how easily the tears always come, hates how vulnerable it makes him feel even when he’s completely alone. How could he possibly expect his father to be anything but embarrassed by him when he’s always been so fucking weak?

He lights up a cigarette and takes a few drags, willing the tears to stop with a few sniffs and a swipe of his hand over his eyes; telling himself that his father is an old bastard anyway, he doesn’t need him for shit. His hands are shaking as he turns the key in the ignition, the Camaro roaring to life, music blaring out of the speakers, and peels out onto the road.

-

“Okay, listen, you can come in if you promise to sit in the back and not draw attention to yourself.” Steve bargains as Dustin follows him up the steps of the school. The younger boy had called him about ten minutes before he was heading out the door to say he needed a ride. Apparently Tews is sick and Mrs. Henderson had to rush her to the vet, so Dustin didn’t have a ride.

“Sure,” Dustin responds.

“I still don’t know why you couldn’t call Joyce or Nancy or something?” Steve rolls his eyes and yanks the door open.

“I tried, they didn’t answer.” Dustin shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets as he walks just a few inches away from Steve, bumping into him every now and again. Steve normally wouldn’t mind, but he feels particularly agitated today.

It started with his mom insisting on them all having breakfast together this morning. A breakfast that she prepared, which is to say - It was nearly inedible. She’s not the _worst_ cook, but she’s by no means good. So he spent his morning sitting at the kitchen table with his parents, alternating between bites of rubbery egg and mouthfuls of orange juice to wash them down, and listening to his dad drone on and on about how Chicago was a good school but Notre Dame would be better.

Steve hadn’t intended to let his dad know he got into Notre Dame, because he knew this is what would happen if he did, but he let it slip on accident to his mom and well…apparently his parents communicate with each other more than he gives them credit for.

His mom pouted when he told her that Joyce had planned a post-graduation celebration for him, which led into a long conversation about how it was apparently her right to throw his post-grad party and how he was being insensitive by not allowing her that. He couldn’t comprehend why it mattered so much, she’s hardly said two words to him since prom night. But this is what she did: Ignore him until she feels threatened by someone else stepping into the role of mother for him, and then become overbearing to the point of nearly suffocating him for several days until she got distracted by something else. Wash, rinse, repeat.

In the end, they struck a compromise. The party would be at his house, and she would call up Joyce to coordinate everything. He definitely took a few minutes to call Joyce and give her fair warning immediately after breakfast. She seemed resigned to the idea, but Joyce isn’t exactly the type to let on if she’s feeling put out.

He was set to be right on time to the school, but then Dustin called, and then his dad pulled him aside to remind him of how important this day was and how important the decisions he made after today would be, and well…Now he’s being stared at by an auditorium full of his peers, who were all probably on time, and who don’t have a shadow in the form of a nerdy middle schooler who doesn’t know how to quietly shut a door behind them.

He coughs to clear his throat, making an awkward gesture that’s somewhere between a wave and finger guns with his hands, and then turns back to Dustin.

“Please just sit here, and be quiet.” He whispers, grabbing Dustin by the shoulders and pushing him into one of the seats at the back.

“You got it, _mom_.” Dustin replies, rolling his eyes and settling into his seat, throwing his backpack down at his feet. Steve yanks on the bill of his hat, pulling it down to cover the younger boy’s eyes, and then makes his way down the aisle to the front of the auditorium. He finds Billy pretty quickly, sitting halfway down the row of H’s. It’s nothing short of embarrassing, climbing over his classmates to reach his spot beside him, Mr. Keller’s eyes on him even as he continues his speech. Billy is smirking at him as he sinks into his chair, folding his arms over his chest and wishing he could turn invisible.

“And I thought _I_ liked to make an entrance,” Billy teases in a whisper and Steve flips him off with the hand closest to him, pressed against his bicep and hopefully out of sight of Mr. Keller. He can see Billy still watching him in his periphery as he tries to ignore him and focus on the stage, but the other boy doesn’t look away for a solid minute so he finally glances back at him. He looks impossibly pretty. His hair is a little damp, perfect ringlets still weighed down with moisture, and the dark grey of his shirt, which is uncharacteristically buttoned all the way to the top, is a good color on him, making his blue eyes pop even more than normal. He smells good, too. Steve has to restrain from taking in a deep breath of that scent - cheap cologne, cigarettes, and something that’s just labeled in his head as Billy Hargrove.

“Can I help you?” He asks and Billy’s cheeks turn red as he shakes his head and looks back up at the stage. It sends a little thrill up Steve’s spine, the way Billy is obviously trying so hard to concentrate on the stage now that he’s been called out, the blush of his cheeks reaching all the way to the tips of his ears. Steve isn’t entirely sure what to make of it, because he _knows_ what this sort of thing means when it’s a girl responding to him that way, but it doesn’t make much sense for Billy to be doing it. He must be getting in too deep with this whole having a crush on Billy thing, because he’s starting to see things now. Billy’s not like that, it’s clearly just wishful thinking on his part. Wishful thinking that he needs to put a lid on.

Steve doesn’t really register any of the things Mr. Keller says for the next few minutes, too distracted by his thoughts, but he’s pretty sure it’s unimportant anyway. At the end of his talk, he lets them break for fifteen minutes so they can get into their caps and gowns and then line up for the opening procession.

“Harrington, you know how to tie a tie?” Billy asks as they head out the side door of the auditorium, into a back hallway where none of the families can see them.

“Course,” Steve answers, turning to face him as he slips his arms into his gown.

“Do you mind?” Billy gestures to the loose, black tie hanging around his neck and Steve nods, reaching a hand out to take the tie. He wraps it around his own neck and makes quick work of fastening the knot. Jules taught him how to do it when he was about nine, and he’s been to plenty of fancy dinners with his parents, so he’s got the whole thing down pat. Billy watches in silence, his own hands turning up his collar as Steve loosens the tie enough to get it back over his head. He replaces it on Billy’s neck and wiggles it back and forth as he tightens it, then turns down his collar, only registering how intimate a gesture it is when his fingers brush the skin of Billy’s neck.

His face heats up as he glances up at Billy, who’s just watching him through hooded eyes. He clears his throat, yanking to tighten the tie just that little bit more and then steps back.

“Can’t believe you don’t know how to tie a tie, Hargrove,” he says, teasing in an attempt to diffuse the tension that he tells himself is one-sided. “I learned that shit when I was a kid.”

“Yeah, well not everyone’s a big fucking nerd like you.” Billy replies, but it falls flat, with no real bite to it. Steve makes a face at him anyway and turns his attention to zipping up his gown. He pulls his cap out from where it’s tucked under his arm and glares at it for a moment. It’s definitely going to give him a bad case of hat hair and he’s not quite ready to face that reality. Billy lets out a chuckle beside him and he looks up, annoyed at how nice Billy still manages to look in the red cap and gown.

“It’s graduation, Harrington, not a beauty pageant.” Billy grins and reaches for the cap, plopping it on top of Steve’s head and then moving the tassel to the right side of his face.

“With the amount of pictures my mom’s going to take, it might as well be.” Steve rolls his eyes.

“Steve!” Dustin calls through the grouping of seniors, who part to let him through. All the nerds, with the exception of Max and the addition of Joyce, are following close behind.

“Hey guys,” Steve waves at them, feeling self-conscious with several of his classmates’ attention on them. “You’re not really supposed to be back here.”

“We just wanted to wish you good luck before the ceremony,” Joyce smiles from where she’s stood at the back, looking exceptionally pretty in a dark blue dress, her hair pulled back into a loose mess of curls at the nape of her neck.

“Thanks,” he smiles back.

“Are you nervous?” Dustin asks.

“No,” Steve shakes his head. “Should I be?”

“I’d be nervous,” Lucas says. “Getting up in front of _all_ those people?”

“Yeah, don’t choke or anything.” Mike adds.

“Man, it would be so funny if you just _ate_ it on the way up to the stage.” Dustin grins.

“Thanks, guys, this was really helpful.” Steve rolls his eyes, reaching a hand out to mess up Dustin’s curls, which have been freed from his hat for the ceremony.

“Hey!” Dustin smacks his hand out of the way. “Don’t mess up the goods.”

“The goods?” Steve’s eyebrows raise at that and he can’t help letting out a laugh, glancing back at Billy, who looks equally amused.

Mrs. Williams is calling for their attention from the front of the hall, which is their cue to go.

“We’ll see you afterwards,” Joyce says, taking a few steps forward to put a hand on Steve’s arm and squeeze affectionately before heading back the way they came.

“Break your leg, Steve.” Eleven pipes up, smiling at him and Steve lets out another laugh while Billy lets out a quiet “Jesus…” behind him.

“Thanks, El,” he replies, ruffling her hair and then waves goodbye to the others as they walk away. Billy doesn’t say anything as they get into line for the procession, and when Steve looks back at him again he looks like he’s suddenly worlds away, expression sad and pensive as his fingers play with the zipper of his gown.

“Nervous?” Steve asks quietly, watching Billy’s fingers for a second before meeting his eyes. Billy shakes his head and looks away, off to the side. Steve wants to ask him what’s wrong, wants to drag it out of him because it’s obvious there’s something and he thinks it’s unfair for Billy to be feeling whatever he’s feeling on a day like today. Not after he’s worked so hard to get here. But he doesn’t ask, because it’s not the place for it, and he’s not even sure if he’s allowed that sort of thing. They’ve only just started to interact again, the last thing he wants to do is push it.

So he lines up behind him and waits for their cue to start walking, Mike’s words in his head “Don’t choke or anything”.

-

The row in front of them is filing out into the aisle to walk across the stage and receive their diplomas when there’s a commotion toward the back of the auditorium. Someone shrieks, the processional music coming to a halt, and Steve immediately turns to see who it was because he could swear it sounded like Max. At the other end of the far left section there are several people jumping up out of their chairs and crowding around someone on the floor. Steve can just barely see the tell-tale red of Max’s hair through the chaos and before he can even move, Billy’s catapulting out of his own chair and clambering over their classmates in an attempt to reach the commotion. Steve follows close behind, albeit a bit more politely, waiting for people to move their legs before brushing past them. Billy literally shoves a few people out of his way, making room for both himself and Steve to get through, and falls immediately to the ground, reaching out for his dad who’s lying unconscious in the middle of a growing crowd of people.

“Somebody call 911!” He yells, gripping at Neil’s shoulders and searching for any sign that he’s still breathing.

“I’m a doctor, let me through!” Steve recognizes Dr. Bellows’ voice breaking through the crowd; he’s been their physician since Steve was in diapers.

“Get out of the way, let him through!” Steve shouts at the people standing between him and the doctor. “And back up! We don’t need everyone crowding them!” It does the trick, people moving backwards and parting to let Dr. Bellows through. Max is standing on the other side of Neil, white as a sheet and eyes wide like saucers. Susan is on the floor with Billy, hand cupped over her mouth and tears streaming down her face.

“Max,” Steve says her name but she doesn’t respond, staring down at Billy as he frantically searches for a pulse. Dr. Bellows kneels down beside him and Steve thinks it’s a miracle that Billy even lets him take over, falling back on his haunches and watching, whole body shaking.

“Has anyone called 911?” Steve looks around the crowd.

“I did, an ambulance is on the way.” Joyce says, forcing her way through the crowd to stand close by and Steve feels like he can breathe again at the sight of her.

“What happened?” Billy looks at Susan and she shakes her head, still crying. “ _What happened?_ ” It comes out more demanding the second time and she closes her eyes, turning her face away from him.

“Billy,” Steve crouches down beside him and reaches a hand out to cup his shoulder; Billy flinches at the contact but he doesn’t move away from it. “An ambulance is on the way, it’s going to be okay.”

“Shut up, you don’t know shit!” Billy yells, shaking his head and refusing to look back at him. “Doc?”

“He’s got a pulse,” Dr. Bellows nods, expression serious. “It’s shallow, but it’s there. Has this ever happened before?”

“He had a stroke,” Billy answers. “Back in April.”

“It’s very possible he’s having another one,” Dr. Bellows says, frowning at Billy.

A moment later the crowd is parting again for the paramedics as they come through with a gurney.

“Everyone back up, we need more space!” Ella, as her name tag reads, yells at the crowd as she drops her bag down a few feet away from Neil and kneels down beside Dr. Bellows. “Talk to me, doc.”

“I believe he’s having a stroke,” he explains, standing up and taking a few steps back. Ella nods at him and gets to work assessing Neil. The other paramedic, Tom, crouches down in front of Susan and talks to her quietly. She nods after a few seconds and stands up with his help, letting him lead her over to a chair to sit.

“You two, we need you to move.” He address Steve and Billy next and Steve feels Billy’s shoulder tense under his hand. He opens his mouth to protest but Steve tightens his grip and tugs on him gently.

“C’mon, you need to let them help him.” He says sternly and Billy shakes his head. “Billy, seriously, they need us to move so they can help him. You’re not doing him any good sitting here.”

“I can’t…” Billy croaks out and Steve can feel him start to shake again. “I can’t leave him…not this time.”

“We’re not leaving him,” Steve whispers back, reaching his other hand up to cup his other shoulder. “No one’s making you leave, okay? We just need to move out of the way.” Billy finally nods, letting Steve pull him back several feet; and they watch silently while the paramedics do their thing, Steve’s hands still planted firmly on Billy’s shoulders.

-

Billy insists on riding in the ambulance with his father, refusing to take no for an answer, and the paramedics are too worried about getting Neil back to the hospital quickly to argue. So he climbs in beside his father on the gurney and digs his fingernails into his legs as he watches Neil’s chest rise and fall with each breath. _Please don’t die, please don’t die, please don’t die…_ Playing like a mantra in his head.

They whisk Neil into the Emergency Room and the nurses have all the patience in the world for arguing with Billy when he tries to demand that he be allowed to stay with his father, so he ends up stuck in the waiting room. Susan and Max show up shortly after the doctors have disappeared with Neil past the big, swinging doors, and they sit in silence while he paces back and forth in front of them. He can’t stop pacing, ripping off his gown and throwing it onto an empty chair, feeling too agitated, like any little thing could set him off.

He wants to run. Every second that passes with no answers leaves him feeling more angry, more desperate to lash out; to do something, absolutely anything to distract from the snake’s nest of nausea and confusion in his stomach. He can’t believe this is happening _again_ , after all of the progress his father has made. He was _walking_ on his own just this morning. How could this be happening? It’s not fair. None of this is fair. Just an hour ago he’d been telling him off in his head, teetering just on the line of wishing him dead, and now here he is. Neil could be dying just beyond those doors right now, and Billy doesn’t have a single fucking clue how to feel about any of it.

He’s not sure how much time passes, but the doctor finally comes out to let them know Neil is stable and they can see him. Everything is too loud inside of his head to hear the questions Susan asks, much less the doctor’s answers, as they head back through the swinging doors and to a room marked 205. It’s not a private room, there’s a bed by the window and another patient sleeping soundly in it as they shuffle in. Billy starts shaking again as soon as he spots his father in the bed closest to the door, a myriad of wires and tubes extending out from his body and into various machines and bags of liquid. Susan goes to his side immediately, pulling a chair close to the bed and sitting down before reaching out for his hand.

“It was touch and go for a while there,” the doctor says to Susan, standing on the other side of the bed. “But we have no reason to believe that he can’t make a fully recovery.” _Full recovery?_ The doctor’s words stoke the anger inside of him. His father hasn’t made a full recovery since his first stroke, how could they possibly expect him to make a full recovery _now_?

“Oh, Neil…” Susan’s crying again and Billy’s thinks he would cry too if there weren’t so many people around. Max stands beside him, still closer to the door than the bed, afraid to get any closer, and she reaches a hand up to touch his elbow ever so gently.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers and Billy can’t get himself to look down at her, knowing that he’ll lose it if he sees those sad, blue eyes staring up at him in sympathy.

His head is full of static, his lungs constricting painfully every time he tries to breathe in, and he just knows that he can’t be here anymore. He has to get out, has to go somewhere else, _anywhere else._ This whole time he’d been saying that he couldn’t leave Neil again, but now that he’s standing here, it’s the only thing he feels like he can do.

The doctor said himself that he’s fine, Billy being here won’t make a difference. So he turns and walks out the door, legs carrying him swiftly down hospital corridors until he finds an exit and bursts through it. He walks through the parking lot and out onto the road, completely directionless but unable to stop moving.

He walks until he finds a bar, and he’s so grateful that the bartender accepts his fake ID. He loses track of time, knocking back glass after glass of whiskey until he feels flushed all over and his limbs are a little heavier. It’s all fine at first, the whiskey doing its job of numbing the mess inside of him, but then the initial buzz of it wears off and he remembers why he came here.

The bartender refuses to serve him another shot and that’s where it all goes wrong. He’s got very little impulse control perfectly sober, and it goes completely out the window after a few drinks, so he doesn’t even think twice before reaching over the bar to grab hold of the bartender, threatening to beat him into the ground if he doesn’t pour him another drink. Several patrons come to the bartender’s rescue and Billy’s too far gone to register everything that happens, but he throws a punch at someone and then ends up blacking out.

-

When he comes to, he’s in the backseat of a truck he doesn’t recognize. Panic rises into his throat, or maybe it’s just bile, as he blinks away the blur in his vision and looks around frantically. The road outside the window is not familiar to him, big empty fields on either side of it. He’s finally done it now, hasn’t he? He pissed the wrong person off and now they’re driving him out to some empty field to dispose of him once and for all. He looks up at the person driving and thinks the back of their head looks vaguely familiar.

“Where the fuck are we going?” He asks hoarsely. The driver glances back at him in the rearview and he definitely recognizes that face. It’s Chief Hopper.

“You’re awake,” the Chief says in lieu of answering his question.

“I was hoping I was dead…” Billy says, lying back down and closing his eyes, hoping that will stop everything from spinning. The Chief doesn’t respond and Billy doesn’t really mind. He must fall back asleep for a minute or two, because next thing he knows the car has stopped and someone is tapping his foot. He opens his eyes and looks down at where the Chief is standing by the open door at his feet.

“C’mon, get up.” He says and Billy complies, climbing out of the truck and looking around, wondering why the hell Chief Hopper has brought him to the fucking junkyard of all places.

“What are we doing here?” He asks. The Chief walks over to the back of his truck and pops it open, pulling out a crowbar. _Jesus, I am about to get murdered._ The Chief gestures with his head for Billy to follow him, walking away from the truck, but Billy stays put, contemplating running in the opposite direction. What kind of idiot just follows along when they’re obviously about to get bludgeoned to death in a rusty, old junkyard?

“C’mon, Hargrove,” the Chief calls to him.

“Is this how you Indiana people take care of the town nuisance?” Billy asks, folding his arms over his chest and swaying a bit on his feet, whiskey still clinging to the last bit of influence it has over his motor skills. “Bring em out to the old junkyard and dispose of em?”

“What are you talking about?” The Chief stops and turns to face him, an eyebrow raised. He seems to remember that he’s holding a crowbar at that point, glancing down at it, realization crossing his face.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Billy.” He says, sighing a bit exasperatedly; which Billy definitely doesn’t think he’s earned. “Just, _c’mon_.” Billy worries at his bottom lip for a moment, glancing around the empty junkyard, and resolves to follow him, if anything for his own morbid curiosity. They walk for several minutes, stopping finally when they reach a row of old, broken down cars.

“Here,” the Chief says, holding the crowbar out to Billy.

“What’s this?” Billy asks, glancing down at it and then up at the cars. Several of them have smashed in windshields, big dents and scrapes in the doors and roofs, a few side mirrors broken off and lying in pieces on the ground around them. It looks like someone’s already been here with a crowbar.

“I get it, you know,” the Chief answers. “The anger thing? I get it. It feels impossible to keep inside, so it’s got to come out some time.”

“You telling me you get mad and come out here to smash up old cars?” Billy asks incredulously. The Chief always seems so calm and collected, it’s difficult to imagine him being as angry as Billy feels.

“It’s that or I take it out on people,” the Chief nods, frowning a bit. “Jane, mostly, gets the brunt of it.” Billy looks back down at the crowbar and takes it from the Chief’s hand, nodding in understanding. He’s never tried dealing with his anger in this way, and he’s skeptical, thinks maybe it won’t feel the same as cracking jaws, but it’s worth a shot.

“I’ll be in the truck.” The Chief says, turning and heading back in the direction they came. Billy watches him disappear out of sight and turns back to the cars, feeling a little self-conscious standing here in the middle of an empty junkyard with the sole purpose of throwing a temper tantrum. He loosens his tie and undoes a few of the buttons on his shirt, feeling suffocated by them. He closes his eyes and taps at the anger that’s always buzzing just beneath the surface, fingers tightening around the crowbar.

He lets that anger blaze up inside him, feels it rise to a burning that courses through his blood and then opens his eyes again, taking a few steps forward and lifting the crowbar up like a bat, ready to swing. He goes for a window, the metal colliding with the cracked glass and shattering it, shards flying in every direction. All it takes is that first hit and then he’s letting loose, smashing more windows and feeling a strange kind of release at the way the metal of the doors dent under each blow from the crowbar.

He thinks about all of the things that have contributed to this fire that blazes inside of him, consuming him so fully at times that he doesn’t even know who he is anymore. He thinks about the years of working his ass off to do well in school, to earn his father’s approval, only to have Neil end up in the hospital with another stroke before he even got to see him get his diploma. He thinks about how much effort he put in to finally getting out from under his father’s thumb, only to end up playing nursemaid to a man he hates on most days, a role he’s likely to be playing for the rest of his life. He thinks about all the bruises and cracked ribs, and his father’s cruel words that cut way deeper than skin. He thinks about how angry his father is, and how he always took it out on him; and he thinks about how easy it would have been for him to do this instead, like Chief Hopper.

He takes out a side mirror with one blow and thinks about how maybe he deserves it as he watches it fall to the ground. Because if the Chief can restrain from taking his anger out on Jane while Neil never missed a chance to pummel him, maybe it’s because she deserves better, but Billy doesn’t. After all, he’s just a weak, pathetic pussy of a boy who’ll never amount to anything. And he’ll never be _normal_. He’ll never fall in love with a girl and have a family like he’s supposed to.

He thinks about how he doesn’t even want those things. About how what he _wants_ is Steve Harrington, who comes with his own giant, adopted family of misfits. He wants to be good enough for Steve, to be _good_ for Steve, to be what he wants. He’s treated Steve so badly, though, terrified of proving once and for all to his father that he’s broken beyond repair and unworthy of all the things he’s done for him; and for what? His father will never think better of him for it.

He’s starting to see now that his father hasn’t _really_ given him anything. All he’s ever done is take, and take, and take. The excitement of his first kiss, his right to grieve for his mother, escape route after escape route, California…Steve. He took it it all, and Billy just let him do it, believed him when he said it was what he deserved.

A sharp, broken cry bursts out of his lips as he smashes in the back window of a car, hot tears streaming down his face. He yells again and again, throat burning with the strain of it, swinging at the window until it’s shattering all over the backseat and trunk, and then drops the crowbar, falling to his knees in the grass behind the car. He leans forward, using a hand to rest against the bumper, and closes his eyes, letting his body drain itself of all the tears and anger left in him.

He gets up eventually, picking up the crowbar and walking back to the Chief’s truck, exhaustion weighing him down as he climbs into the passenger seat and sets the crowbar on the floor. The Chief watches him quietly for several minutes, while Billy breathes heavily in his seat, staring up at the broken down bus in front of them. Nothing’s resolved, it’s all still such a big fucking mess, but he does feel better somehow.

“Thank you.” He says at length, refusing to meet the Chief’s gaze, but he can see him nod in his periphery and then the engine is stuttering to life.

Billy doesn’t even realize they’re not heading back to the hospital until the Chief is turning off the main road onto a familiar dirt road. They pull up to the old shack, the porch light illuminating the front of it as the sun sets beyond the trees, and the Chief shifts into park.

“What are we doing here?” Billy asks, finally looking up at him.

“You can crash here for the night,” the Chief answers. “I already told Susan you’d be staying here, and I’ll get you back to the hospital in the morning.” Billy looks at the shack again and notices Jane standing on the porch now, watching them with those big, owlish eyes. He nods slowly and climbs out of the truck, following the Chief up to the porch.

“Come inside,” Jane says, taking his hand and leading him into the house. The place is pretty small, but it’s kind of nice. There’s a couch, a big cushiony chair, and a TV in the main room, with a small bed pressed up against one wall, and then what looks like a bedroom and a bathroom off to the other side. The kitchen is small, but it’s got all the normal necessities, and above it there’s some kind of loft with a wooden ladder leading up to it.

There are three TV dinners sitting on the table, steam rising off of them, and Jane makes him sit on the stool at the end of the table.

“Eat.” She says.

“I’m not really hungry…” he replies, earning a serious, unimpressed look from her.

“Eat.” She says again, pushing his plate a little bit closer.

“El,” the Chief says, a warning to stop.

“No,” she shakes her head at him and looks back at Billy. “You have to eat. You’ll feel better.” Billy considers holding his ground, just to prove that he can be stubborn too, but he’s exhausted; all the fight’s been drained out of him. So he nods and picks up his fork, stabbing it into the rubber piece of meat on his plate. After that, they eat in silence, which suits him just fine.

“The couch is actually pretty comfortable, believe it or not,” the Chief says after dinner, disappearing into the bedroom for a second and returning with a pillow and a spare blanket.

“Thanks,” Billy watches as he sets them down on the worn, red couch and then excuses himself to the bathroom. Once in there he takes a piss and throws cold water on his face, ignoring his reflection in the mirror because he knows he must look like an absolute mess.

When he comes back out into the living room, the Chief and Jane are nowhere in sight, but he can hear hushed voices in the bedroom. He glances into the open doorway and Jane smiles up at him from where she’s sat on the bed beside the Chief.

“Time to sleep,” she says, hopping up from the bed and walking over to him, grabbing his hand once again and leading him to the couch. “Lie down.”

“You sure are bossy, aren’t you?” He asks, smiling just a little, and she smiles again.

“I know how to help you sleep,” she says. “Lie down and close your eyes.” He chuckles, amused by her insistence, and lies back on the couch, folding his arms over his stomach and closing his eyes. He feels cold fingers press against his temples and begin to massage the skin there, and then he doesn’t remember anything else.

-

In the morning Jane makes them a pile of eggo waffles and Billy’s feeling pretty good after a full night’s rest, probably the best sleep he’s had in a long time; so he challenges her to a contest to see who can eat the most eggos. She beats him at 10-8, which he’s admittedly impressed by, and the Chief just rolls his eyes, muttering about how eggos aren’t free.

After breakfast they head into town, stopping by Billy’s house so he can throw on a change of clothes before going to the hospital. Jane asks if they can go in, to see Max, so they follow him up to room 205. Billy’s heart plummets into his stomach when they reach the room to find no sign of Neil or Max and Susan. He books it over to the nurse’s station and taps his foot impatiently as the nurse behind the desk talks to someone on the phone.

“How can I help you?” She asks after hanging up.

“Neil Hargrove, he was in room 205, where is he now?” He asks.

“I’m sorry, only family can-”

“I’m his son.” He cuts her off.

“Oh,” she nods and then looks down, shuffling through some clipboards. “He had surgery this morning, and he’s been moved to the ICU, on the fourth floor.”

“ICU?” Billy chokes out. “What’s wrong? He was fine just yesterday.”

“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t have any more information,” she says. “You’ll have to go up to the ICU.”

“Okay, okay…” he turns and heads for the elevators, the others close behind.

When they reach the ICU they’re told that Jane and the Chief can’t come with him, so they promise to wait in the waiting room, and Billy follows a nurse back to a hand-washing station before being lead to his father’s room. Neil is hooked up to even more machines, including a tube that Billy’s pretty sure is meant to breathe for him. Susan is lying on the little cot that’s been set up in the corner, but she’s wide awake and reading a book. She sits up when she sees Billy, setting the book aside and frowning up at him.

“His brain was bleeding this morning, so they took him into surgery to stop the bleeding.” She tells him. “But there was too much damage.”

“Why didn’t you call?” He asks, taking a step closer to his father.

“The Chief said last night that you were pretty exhausted, I didn’t want to worry you.” She says. “There’s nothing you could have done, Billy.”

“I could’ve been here…” Billy shakes his head, clenching his hands into fists and telling himself not to fucking cry. _Not again._ She doesn’t respond to that, just frowns and looks down at her lap.

“So what’s going to happen now?” He asks after a few beats of silence.

“The doctors said he’s brain dead.” She says slowly, carefully, like she’s trying to placate him. “There was too much bleeding and they couldn’t control it.”

“Brain dead?” Billy feels the words like glass on his tongue. “But he’s…he’s going to be okay, right?” He’s not an idiot, he knows what brain dead means. He just doesn’t want to believe it.

“No, sweetie,” Susan shakes her head. “He’s gone. He’s not coming back.” Billy shakes his head again, all the emotions that were boiling up inside of him suddenly going numb. It’s unfair. This isn’t what he wanted. He hates the man, but he never wanted _this_. He tries to remember the last words he even said to his father, but he can’t, because whatever they were…they didn’t really mean anything, did they? When was the last time he ever said anything meaningful to his own father?

He’s itching with the need to run again, but he doesn’t. Because he doesn’t want to leave Susan here to deal with this on her own, and he can’t feel his legs well enough to move anyway.

“So what now?” He asks, looking up at her through glassy eyes.

“We have some time,” she says. “The doctors said we can take a few days to make a decision.”

“A decision?” Billy chokes out.

“All of these machines are keeping his body alive,” she explains. “But he’s gone, which means we have to give them permission to unplug him.”

“Fuck…” Billy closes his eyes, a few tears escaping down his cheeks.

“We don’t have to do it today,” Susan continues. “We have some time.”

Billy wants to ask what the point is in waiting. Why delay the inevitable? But deep down he gets it. Pulling the plug means saying goodbye and that’s a lot to take in in the matter of one day. He finds himself nodding and taking a few more steps toward his father, until he’s at his side. He looks down at the hand resting on the mattress at his side, the back of it covered in tape that’s holding the IV in place. He wants to reach out and touch it, take it in his own hand, but he can’t. He can’t because all he can see is all the times that same hand has taken from him, and how he’ll never have the chance to reconcile any of that now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter went in a few different directions, but this is what I ended up deciding on. I hope you enjoyed it?  
> I know, I know...it's a heavy chapter, so I don't know that "enjoyed" is the right word for it? But anyway...
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts on the direction I took this. Or just your thoughts in general. I love every single one of your comments/feedback! Y'all are amazing and motivate me so much when I'm at my wit's end with that good ol' writer's block.
> 
> PS - I've got a side blog on the tumblr now where I'd love to talk to more of you. I've only had it for like two weeks and I'm already having a great time interacting with more people in the Harringrove fandom. Handle is [blahblahblaharringrove](https://blahblahblaharringrove.tumblr.com/)  
> Please come talk to me about these dumb boys. ;)


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who cares for this sort of thing - The song I listened to most while writing this chapter was [Threnody - Goldmund](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mdEuCRiW2l0). Check it out if you want some sad music to help set the mood.

“Yeah, sure,” Steve says, nodding into the phone as Susan gives him an update on Neil. He’s standing in the Hargrove’s kitchen, leaned up against the wall where the phone is hanging, hand playing absently with the long, curly chord.

“Billy should be here in a couple of hours,” she says. “Hopefully Neil will be out of surgery by then.”

“Okay,” he responds. “Max is still sleeping, but I can get her up, bring her over in an hour or so.”

“No,” Susan says. “Let her sleep, poor thing was exhausted.”

“Sure,” he nods again, glancing over his shoulder into the living room, where Max is still curled up on the floor in front of the TV. “We’ll head over whenever she’s up and ready to go. Do you need anything from the house?”

“Yes, please,” she answers. “I’m sure I’ll be here at least another night. Max should know what to pack for me.”

“Okay,” he says. “See you later.”

“Thanks again, Steve,” she says, and he can hear the tired smile in her voice.

“Any time, Mrs. Hargrove,” he smiles despite how he knows she can’t see him and says a quick “Bye” before hanging up. He turns into the wall and presses his forehead against it for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts. The past twenty-four hours have been intense and he feels like he’s barely been able to take a full breath since Neil collapsed during graduation.

He’d sat with Billy on the floor of the auditorium, watching as the paramedics stabilized Neil and got him loaded up on a gurney, wishing desperately that there was something he could say or do to comfort him. The whole thing took him back to that morning when he was ten years old, sitting on the floor of his kitchen with Jules’ hand in his, waiting for the paramedics, blood staining his bare legs and swim trunks as he spoke to her in a hushed voice. He knows there’s nothing anyone could have said to him then that would have helped, but he also thinks that maybe someone just being there, reminding him that he wasn’t alone, would’ve made a difference. So he sat with Billy and waited, hands on his shoulders to remind him that he was there, even if Billy wouldn’t look at him. Billy had scrambled up from their spot on the floor when the paramedics started to move, shirking off Steve’s hands, and hurrying to follow his dad out to the ambulance. Steve just watched, feeling useless and maybe a little helpless, but trying to remember that this wasn’t about him this time.

Max and Susan disappeared from the auditorium and Joyce knelt down at his side, wrapping her arms around him comfortingly, as the crowd around them dispersed, returning to their seats. Distantly he registered that Mr. Keller was speaking again, calling for the ceremony to continue.

“It’s okay,” Joyce whispered, running a hand through his hair. “It’s going to be okay.” He nodded into her hand and slowly stood up, finding Dustin a few feet away, watching him with wide, concerned eyes.

“Brianna Gregory,” Mrs. Williams announced the next graduate and he turned to see that his row was lined up to receive their diplomas. The last thing he wanted to do was walk up onto that stage and pretend he gave a fuck about that diploma, but he had no choice. It’s not like there was anything else he could do instead. He gave Dustin and Joyce a weak smile and walked over to join his classmates in line.

Walking across that stage felt nothing like what he’d always imagined it would feel like. All of the nerds cheered from their seats in the back when his name was called, but the whole thing felt anticlimactic. There was no sense of accomplishment, no sense of pride in knowing that his parents were there in the audience; all he could think about was whether or not Billy was okay. It had taken everything in him to smile and thank his teachers as he accepted his diploma, and then sit quietly and wait while the rest of his classmates received their diplomas.

After the ceremony his parents found him in the lobby, and they didn’t even ask about what had happened with the Hargroves. His dad clapped him on the shoulder and told him congratulations, while his mom insisted on taking several photos of him in his cap and gown. It felt like such a normal parent thing to do, but Steve wasn’t used to his parents being normal and it didn’t feel right. It was apparent in that moment just how little they actually knew about the last six months of his life.

Thankfully, his mom didn't argue too much when he asked if they could postpone the party for another day. It was obvious she didn’t fully understand why, and he was beyond grateful to Joyce for being there to try to explain it to her, because he didn’t have the energy. Joyce also had the wherewithal to call the hospital and check with Susan before sending anyone over. The last thing they needed was a gaggle of rowdy teenagers barging into the waiting room and causing more stress for everyone.

It was a good move on her part, because Susan thanked them for their concern but asked that they not come over just yet. So they went back to the Byers’ instead and Steve sat on the back porch with Joyce for a few hours, chain smoking and watching the kids try to construct some kind of telescope-like thing out of random scraps from the shed.

Susan called around dinner time and asked for Steve.

“I hate to ask, but would you be able to stay with Max at the house tonight?” She asked.

“Of course,” Steve answered immediately. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, Neil’s going to be okay,” she responded. “But I’d rather stay with him here for the night, and Billy’s with Chief Hopper…”

“Billy’s with Hop?” Steve interrupted.

“He’s staying at the Hoppers for the night,” Susan answered. “Anyway, I don’t want Max to have to stay here tonight.”

“Sure,” Steve nodded. “I’m happy to help.” He wanted to ask  _ why  _ Billy was with Hopper, but he decided against it; Susan was asking for his help and he needed to focus on that. He glanced over to see everyone gathering at the table, grabbing food from the various trays Joyce had prepared for the party.

“Have you guys eaten at all?” He asked her.

“Not yet, but there’s food at home for Max and I can just get something from the cafeteria.” She answered.

“I’ll bring some food with me,” Steve said.

“Oh, you don’t have to…”

“No, really, we’ve got plenty extra.” Steve insisted.

When he got to the hospital Susan’s eyes welled up with tears at the sight of him, arms cradling various tupperware containers full of food.

“You really didn't have to bring all this,” she said, standing up from the chair at Neil’s bedside to take some of the food from him.

“It’s what we do,” Steve shrugged, letting her grab a few containers off the top and then taking the rest to a table in the corner. Max was sitting on a bench across from the bed, biting her nails as she stared down at a book in her lap.

“I haven’t eaten yet either, so I figured we could all just dig in here?” He asked and Susan nodded in response, smile on her lips. So they ate dinner around the little table in the hospital room, the rhythmic beep of two heart monitors the only sounds in the room.

He’d brought Max back to the Hargrove house after that and they’d fallen right into the familiar routine they'd found when he was staying with her last time. Max sprawled out in front of the TV after turning it on and setting the volume down low while Steve fixed up the couch for himself. He didn’t slept much that night, too shaken from the day’s events and anxious about the fact that once again Billy wasn’t there.

And now here he was, standing in the Hargrove kitchen and trying to get his head back on straight. He knows logically that Billy’s with Hopper, so he’s probably fine, but it’s difficult to really believe it. He just wants to see him, to know for sure that he’s really still here, and that this isn’t going to set them back the way it did last time.

-

It’s almost noon when Max finally wakes up and comes into the kitchen, red hair all tangled around her shoulders and eyes still puffy from sleep. Steve’s spent the morning cleaning the kitchen and preparing some food to take to Susan at the hospital, trying to keep himself occupied.

“Morning,” he greets her and she just nods before going down the hall and disappearing into the bathroom. He throws together a couple of sandwiches while she’s in there, PB&J because it’s all they have, and sets them on the table.

“Thanks,” she says as she re-emerges from the bathroom and makes her way over to the table.

“Sure,” he smiles and takes a seat across from her. “Your mom called. They had to take Neil into surgery, but he’s probably out by now.”

“Is he okay?” she asks, ripping a long strip of crust off of her sandwich and stuffing it into her mouth.

“I think so,” he answers. “I guess he had a brain bleed or something? She didn’t give me a whole lot of details.”   
“Is Billy there?” she asks.

“Should be.” he nods. “I told her we’d head over once you woke up.” She nods back and continues to tear apart her sandwich, eating the crust first and then breaking off bite-sized bits from the softer parts. He’s never seen someone eat a sandwich the way she does, but he noticed it the last time he stayed with her and he finds it oddly endearing.

“Oh, by the way, can you throw together an overnight bag for your mom?” he says after a few minutes of silence pass between them.

“Sure,” she nods again and stares down at what remains of her sandwich for a few seconds before looking back up at him. “Is it bad that I kind of wish he’d just die already?” Steve blinks at her a few times, surprised by her candor.

“Why do you say that?” he asks.

“He’s an ass,” she says. “All he ever does is yell at all of us, and make mom cry, and…” she stops abruptly, like she has to rethink what she was going to say next.

“He’s an ass.” she repeats herself. “And we’d be better off without him.” She puts the rest of her sandwich in her mouth and chews, staring down at her plate with a frown on her face. Steve doesn’t know what to say to that, doesn’t have a clue what’s appropriate. He’s never been in her situation. His parents aren’t great, sure, but they’ve never yelled at him or tried to control his every move the way he imagines Neil does.

“I don’t think it makes you a bad person, Max.” He says finally and she looks up at him again. “I really don’t.”   
“But…” she starts.

“You want to protect them,” he cuts her off. “I get it.” She looks conflicted, like she’s not sure if she should argue or feel relieved at his offering of validation. He reaches a hand across the table and rests it on top of hers, squeezing very gently.

“We better get going,” he says, changing the subject. “Go get that bag ready for your mom.”

“Okay,” she nods and gets up from the table, heading for the hall. She stops in the doorway and turns to look at him again as he picks up their plates and takes them to the sink.

“Steve?” she says.

“Yeah?” he responds, looking over at her.

“Thank you.” She answers, small smile on her lips, and that eases the tightness in his chest.

“Anytime.” He smiles back.

-

Billy hears some commotion at the door, but he doesn’t really register any of what’s happening as he sits at his father’s side, hands folded together just a few inches away from his father’s hand. He doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting here, watching the way Neil’s chest rises and falls with the pump of the machine near his head. It’s a bizarre feeling, watching someone breathe right in front of you and trying to come to terms with the fact that they’re not actually there anymore. It doesn’t make any fucking sense.

“Billy,” it’s Max’s voice. She sounds close, and sad, so terribly sad that it makes him look up. She’s standing beside him, and she’s doing that thing where she’s trying to look unbothered, like nothing can touch her; but her eyes are filled with the same sadness that permeates her voice.

“Max,” he whispers, voice hoarse from disuse, and she frowns.

“Mom told me,” she says, folding her arms over her chest and looking from him to Neil.

“I’m sorry,” he says back, and he’s not sure what he’s apologizing for. Maybe it’s for her having to see Neil like this, having to see  _ him  _ like this, having to see any of this at all. Or maybe it’s for the fact that he never really stood up for her all those times Neil yelled at her, or for spending so much of their relationship not being any better than his father. He wasted so much time being cruel to her, the past few months hardly count as redemption for it; and now he’s not sure if he’ll have the chance to make it up to her, to be the brother she should’ve had this whole time. Neil was the thing that connected them and now he’s gone. What’s to say Susan and Max will stick around once he’s buried in the ground? In a few years’ time, he’ll just be a bad memory to her.

“It’s not your fault,” she responds, looking annoyed at the very thought that he could be at fault for any of this. He doesn’t have anything to say to that, doesn’t want to admit what he’s really thinking, so he just nods and looks back at Neil, concentrates on the rise and fall of his chest again.  _ He can’t really be dead, it doesn’t fucking make sense. _

“Billy, sweetheart?” Susan pipes up from somewhere behind him. “We have a guest.” Billy closes his eyes for a moment, sucking in a deep breath, and then turns to face her and whoever the hell it is that she thinks he might want to see right now. His chest constricts painfully when he spots Steve standing near the door, wearing the same clothes he had on at graduation. He looks tired, like he didn’t sleep last night, and the expression on his face isn’t the guarded kind of sadness on Max’s; it’s just pure, unadulterated sadness. Billy would almost think it’s pity, but he knows better; knows that Steve has some experience with this kind of thing.

It doesn’t change the fact that he’s here in the same room with Neil, though, and Billy  _ knows  _ that Neil isn’t actually here anymore, but it doesn’t change the way his whole body vibrates with fear. Steve can’t be here. Neil wouldn’t want him here. He lets his eyes meet Steve’s for the briefest of moments, lets his mind entertain the thought of going to him and seeking comfort in his presence, and then he turns back to his father.

“I don’t want to see anyone.” He says, stern and final. His response is met with silence at first, and then Susan apologizes to Steve. He says it’s fine and Billy’s brain tells him definitively that  _ nothing  _ is fine. He listens as their voices grow distant, muffled, and the tension inside of him eases a little. Max’s hand rests over his shoulder and squeezes and he leans just the tiniest bit into it, wishing that some of her strength could transfer through the touch.

-

Turns out they don’t have time, like Susan initially told him they did. He’s not sure what time it is but it’s getting dark outside again when she forces him to turn around and face her so they can talk about it. The truth of the matter is that it’s too expensive to keep Neil on life support and their insurance doesn’t cover enough of it. They have to pull the plug before midnight or they risk paying for another day’s worth of life support.

Billy wants to be able to say he’s surprised, but it makes sense. Just one more thing that seems completely unfair to top off this weekend straight from hell. Susan touches his arm in a show of comfort but it just feels weird. He’s never been particularly close to Susan, always thought she merely tolerated him because he came with the package that was his father. He’d run out of fingers if he tried to count on his hand the number of times that she just watched while his father berated him and smacked him around. He never really blamed her, his father was a force to be reckoned with and the last thing he expected was for someone like Susan to stand up to him; but it still stung, and he finds it difficult to believe she genuinely gives two shits about him.

“I’ve asked them to come in an hour.” She tells him, fingers still pressing into his arm. He just nods in response, because what else is he supposed to do?

Either they’re early or the last hour went by way too quickly, because before he knows it there are nurses and doctors coming into the room and talking about what to expect when they pull the plug. Susan is sat on the other side of the bed, holding Neil’s hand tightly in her own, and Max is at her side, fingers stroking through her hair gently.

There’s a fist-sized knot in his throat as he listens to the doctor explain each step before they do it, starting with removing the ventilator and then removing the IV line. Apparently sometimes people breathe on their own for a while after they’ve removed the ventilator, but Neil doesn’t. Billy watches as his chest moves up and down three times and then stops. The monitor for his heart flatlines and a nurse switches it off before leaving them alone for a while.

Susan’s been crying for a while already, entire face red and puffy from the tears, while Max’s expression is mostly impassive, save for a few tears that escape her eyes and trickle down her cheeks. Billy swallows around the knot in his throat as his own eyes fill with tears. He’s spent most of the day feeling numb, like all of the grief he should have been feeling had been covered in a thick veil, but now it’s been torn away and everything inside of him feels like one giant, exposed nerve.

He reaches for his father’s hand, squeezing it and begging in his head for Neil to just wake up, watching his chest for movement. But there’s nothing. No beep of the heart monitor, no compression from the ventilator, no rise and fall in his chest. The room is silent save for the sound of Susan’s quiet sobbing, and Neil’s gone. His father is really just...gone.

-

There’s someone banging on his front door. It’s two o’clock in the morning and Steve has been lying in bed since ten, staring at his ceiling restlessly, mind stuck on an endless loop of the look on Billy’s face when he saw him that morning at the hospital. When they arrived Susan had pulled them outside the room to tell them what was going on and Steve’s heart broke for all of them. The whole thing just didn’t feel right. Neil had been fine, and Billy was still here, and everything was supposed to be fine.

But now it’s two o’clock in the morning and someone is banging on his front front door. Who the hell bangs on someone’s door like that at two o’clock in the morning? He’s not sure yet if he should be grateful or nervous that his parents are out of town for the evening. He reaches under his bed to grab his bat before stumbling out of bed and down to the foyer. He stills in front of the door when the banging stops for a second, and then whoever’s on the other side starts banging again. He tiptoes over to it, peeking out to see an agitated, frenzied Billy Hargrove on his front porch.  _ What the fuck? _ He quickly stashes the bat in the nearby coat closet and unlocks the deadbolt, opening the door.

Billy looks even worse without the glass of the peephole distorting him. His eyes are red-rimmed and wet, tear streaks running all down his cheeks, and his hair is a matted mess, like he’s been pulling at it. He’s wearing sweatpants and an old t-shirt with the arms cut out of it, several holes littering the collar. He’s just standing there, staring at Steve and heaving in shallow breath after shallow breath, like he’s on the verge of hyperventilating. Steve has no idea what to do.

“Billy?” He says, slow and gentle. “What’s wrong?” Billy breaks down at that, heaving breaths turning into actual sobs as he wraps his arms around himself almost protectively, shaking his head and looking anywhere but directly at Steve.

“Hey,” he reaches a hand out to cup Billy’s shoulder and Billy takes a step back, giving him a pained, frightened look. Steve considers him for a moment, trying to gauge how he should respond. He’s never seen Billy like this, never would have believed anyone if they said Billy was even capable of looking or acting this way. He’s literally shaking as he stands there, arms tightening around himself, and it makes Steve ache with the need to do something, absolutely anything. He takes a step toward the other boy, reaching a hand out a little more tentatively this time, and Billy watches his hand like it’s a snake about to attack him, but he doesn’t move. Steve wraps his fingers around Billy’s shoulder, squeezing ever so gently. When Billy doesn’t pull away, he steps into his space and wraps his arms around his shoulders, pulling him in slowly until Billy’s shaking against his chest. He’s still got his arms wrapped around himself, elbows pressing into Steve’s stomach, and his head is turned to the side, carefully kept up and away from Steve. It’s uncomfortable and a little awkward, but Steve just holds him and waits.

He’s not sure how much time passes like that, but eventually Billy lets out a shaky breath and collapses against him, unfolding his arms to wrap them around Steve’s waist, fingers digging into the soft cotton of Steve’s t-shirt. He buries his face in the space between Steve’s shoulder and neck, breath hot and wet against his collar, and Steve squeezes a little tighter, fighting the urge to run his hands through Billy’s hair.

He’s spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about what it would be like to have Billy this close to him, but this is decidedly less sensual than any of those fantasies. This isn’t about finally learning what it feels like to have Billy’s body pressed up close to his own, or how Billy’s lips feel against his skin, or seeing how indestructible, untouchable Billy Hargrove falls apart under his touch. This is about Billy being cracked open, raw and vulnerable, and clinging to Steve like a lifeline. Billy’s lips against his neck don’t send sparks down his spine like he’s always imagined they would, because the brush of them is combined with the sharp exhale of each sob that wracks his body. Steve’s heart hurts, and he’s holding Billy as close as he can but he still feels like it’s not enough.

Billy’s sobs taper off after a while and he’s left just breathing against Steve’s neck, fingers going lax where they’d been digging into Steve’s back.

“Billy,” Steve whispers, reaching a hand up to tentatively press against Billy’s neck. “C’mon, let’s go inside.” It takes another minute, but Billy finally nods and pulls back, refusing to meet Steve’s eyes as he follows him into the house.

“Want something to drink?” Steve asks, leading him into the kitchen. He doesn’t respond, so Steve just pours him a glass of water and sets it on the counter in front of him. They stand there in silence while Billy reaches out to run a finger up the glass, drawing lines in the condensation, and still refuses to look at Steve.

“I shouldn’t be…” he croaks out suddenly, wincing and then closing his eyes as he draws in a deep breath. “I shouldn’t be here. But I didn’t know where else to go. I couldn’t just go home...”

“What happened?” Steve asks.

“He’s dead.” Billy answers, eyes still closed and head bent down toward the counter. “They pulled the plug and he’s just...gone…”

“Shit,” Steve says on an exhale.

“I don’t know why it matters so much…” Billy mutters. “I hated the guy.”

“Billy,” Steve doesn’t know what to do.

“I just…I don’t get it.” Billy shakes his head and finally looks up at him, blue eyes wet and red and so full of heartbreak that it feels like a knife to Steve’s own heart. “There were so many times that I wished him dead…”

“This isn’t your fault.” Steve says firmly.

“Nah, I know that…” Billy responds, shaking his head. “It’s just, I never thought it’d feel this bad to have him actually die.” He looks impossibly fragile, like a light wind could shatter him, all hunched into himself and stripped of his usual bravado. Steve takes a few careful steps toward him, approaching as if he’s an easily frightened animal, and reaches a hand out to scoot the glass of water closer to Billy.

“Please drink some water,” he says. A breath stutters out of Billy and he shakes his head again before dropping it onto the counter. Steve steps around the corner of the counter to put his hands on Billy’s shoulders. There’s no resistance this time when he pulls him into his arms.

“I want to help,” Steve whispers, heart pounding heavy in his chest as Billy turns into him and wraps his arms around his waist. “How can I help?”

“Get me something stronger to drink than water.” Billy says in his ear, the warm breath that strokes his skin there sending shivers down his spine. Steve laughs, both amused and trying to hide how flustered he feels all the sudden.

“I can do that.” he answers, letting go of Billy so he can go to the liquor cabinet and trying not to fixate on the way Billy’s hands fall to his hips and linger there for a moment as he pulls away.

-

The bottle of whiskey Steve stole from the liquor cabinet is almost empty and he’s definitely going to be in trouble for that, but it’s worth it to see Billy less tense. They’re sitting on opposite sides of the couch in the den, passing the bottle back and forth, socked feet barely touching where they meet in the middle. Steve’s not nearly as drunk as Billy, but his limbs are a little heavy and his vision’s kind of hazy; right in that sweet spot between generously buzzed and tipsy. Billy, on the other hand, is  _ drunk _ . His words are slurring together and he’s all loose-limbed and sloppy, pressed up against his side of the couch, head lolling from side to side as he talks.

“I just don’t get it,” he says, lifting the whiskey bottle to his lips and taking another swig. “I mean, the guy’s a total asshole, y’know? I don’t know why it matters.”   
“He’s still your dad, though,” Steve shrugs, reaching a hand out for the bottle and pouting when Billy just clutches it tighter.

“So?” Billy rolls his eyes, throwing his head back to look up at the ceiling. “Blood’s not everything.”   
“No, it’s not,” Steve nods. “It’d be different, though, if he just like...I don’t know, bailed on you at birth or whatever. But he didn’t, right? He still raised you…”   
“Are you defending him?” Billy laughs, but it’s humorless.

“No,” Steve shakes his head. “God knows I’m not defending him, Billy. I’m just saying...it’s not ridiculous for you to feel broken up about this. He  _ was  _ your dad, after all.”

“What if I don’t care, though?” Billy asks, jaw tightening in defiance as he looks back at Steve.

“You do.” Steve replies. Billy rolls his eyes again and takes another drink from the whiskey bottle.

“Never gave me shit,” he says after a beat. “Not a damn thing. Couldn’t have a damn thing I ever wanted with him breathing down my neck all the fucking time.”   
“Well, I guess that’s a plus then,” Steve is aiming for lighthearted, but he’s afraid it might come across as insensitive. Billy’s quiet for a minute, running a finger over the lip of the whiskey bottle and staring off into some space Steve can’t see.

“Right?” Steve asks at length.

“What’s a plus?” Billy shakes himself out of it and meets Steve’s eyes again.

“He’s not here to tell you what you can and can’t have,” Steve answers. Billy’s cheeks turn pink and he immediately looks back down at the bottle. Steve’s not sure what to make of that as he watches Billy pick at the label. Always fidgeting, never sitting still. It’s so familiar that it makes his heart ache all over again.

“I don’t…” Billy starts, then stops for a second, swallowing hard. “I don’t deserve the things I want.”

“You deserve everything you want.” Steve says immediately, tapping Billy’s foot with his own in an attempt to get him to look up. He doesn’t. So Steve pushes away from his side of the couch, leaning forward to grab hold of Billy’s ankles. Billy startles, but he meets Steve’s eyes and Steve is suddenly very aware of how weirdly intimate it is to be holding Billy’s ankles and looking up at him through his knees.

Billy searches his eyes for a moment, though what he’s searching for Steve can’t be sure. The air between them feels charged all the sudden as Steve stares back. The moment takes him back to prom night. Billy had reached out for him then and his heart shot up into his throat in anticipation of something he couldn’t really define. He remembers telling himself not to look at Billy’s lips, not to give himself away, and he’d succeeded, but now Billy’s eyes are dropping from his eyes to his lips and Steve’s insides are spiraling into complete chaos. Billy sets the whiskey bottle on the floor beside him and leans forward. It’s graceless and for a second Steve thinks he might headbutt him, but he manages to stop before that happens.

It’s an awkward position. Steve is still leaned forward, hand around the ankle that’s still on the couch, Billy’s other foot hanging off the side of the couch so he can lean forward more; their faces just inches away. Steve’s heart is pounding almost painfully in his chest, stomach turning and twisting, and he’s so distracted by the chaos inside of him that he doesn’t fully register Billy leaning in the rest of the way until his lips are met by rough, chapped lips and he has to cross his eyes to see Billy’s closed lids directly in front of him. The kiss doesn’t last long enough for him to really process it or react, just a closed-mouth press of lips and then Billy’s pulling away, cheeks turning bright red with embarrassment as Steve blinks back at him, stunned and wide-eyed.

“Fuck…” Billy curses. “I’m sorry. Fuck. I really...I didn’t…” Steve has no fucking clue how to respond. He  _ wants  _ to kiss Billy properly. Wants to crowd him up against his side of the couch and press his lips to Billy’s again. Kiss him long and hard, until they’re breathless and there’s no doubt left just how badly he wants him.

But he can’t do that. Because Billy is  _ very  _ drunk, and he’s vulnerable, and he can’t have this knowing that Billy may not remember it in the morning. Or worse - may  _ regret  _ it in the morning. He doesn’t even know if this is something Billy actually wants. He’s had so much taken from him in such a short time. Steve can’t take this from him, too.

“You’re drunk,” he says instead, sitting up and trying to play it off as a small thing despite how huge a thing it actually is. “I’m drunk, too. Don’t worry about it.”

“Steve…” Billy whispers, voice shaky with emotion.

“It’s late,” Steve doesn’t wait for him to say anything else, moving to get off the couch. “I think we should try to get some sleep.” Billy’s hand reaches out and grabs his wrist.

“Can we…” he starts and then stops, eyes dropping to the couch. “I don’t want…” Steve waits for him to finish, but he doesn’t.

“I’m just going to get us some water.” Steve finally says and Billy nods, letting go of his wrist.

He goes to the kitchen and, with shaking hands, pours two glasses of water. He doesn’t let himself linger there for too long, though, deciding the worst thing he can do right now is think about it too hard.

“Drink this,” he says as he walks back into the den, handing a glass to Billy.

“This isn’t whiskey,” Billy grimaces.

“You’re going to have a horrible hangover tomorrow,” Steve responds, sitting back down on the couch and looking at him expectantly. “Drinking that will help, at least a little.” Billy’s glare transfers from the glass to Steve but Steve just folds his arms over his chest and waits. Billy concedes, taking a few sips and then setting it on the table.

“The whole thing.” Steve says. Billy glares again, but he picks it back up and downs the whole glass. Steve nods in approval and gulps down his own glass of water.

“Do you want to sleep down here? Or we have a guest room…” Steve asks, setting the glass aside.

“Couch is fine.” Billy answers, and Steve starts to get up again. Billy reaches out and grabs his arm, eyes glassy when Steve looks into them.

“Stay?” Billy asks and something about the look in his eyes shatters Steve’s heart. Like he’s genuinely afraid that he’s asking for too much. He wants to say no, to draw a definitive line in the sand that can’t be blurred, because Billy kissed him and he’s still not sure what that means. He doesn’t know what it means if he stays now, either. He can’t say no to the look on Billy’s face, though, so he nods and leans back against the armrest behind him. He takes Billy’s hand where it’s clinging to his arm and tentatively pulls, inviting him to come closer.

Relief falls over Billy’s face at that, and he crawls across the couch to lay down between Steve’s legs. Steve’s heart is hammering away in his chest as he wraps his arms around Billy and he’s afraid Billy can hear it when he rests his head there, but if he can he doesn’t say anything. Billy lets out a few stuttering breaths as his weight settles into Steve and Steve instinctively rubs a hand up and down his back.

The silence that falls between them allows Steve to really think about the fact that Billy Hargrove actually _ kissed _ him. He’s thought about kissing Billy so many times over the past few weeks, spent way too much time considering how it would feel, but he never once believed it would actually happen. And he couldn’t have possibly imagined that it would happen the way it did. There’s a part of him that regrets not kissing him back, because now he’s not sure if he’ll ever get the chance again.

God, he feels like an idiot fixating on this when he should be concerned about more important things. Like the fact that Billy’s dad just died and he’s going to need all the support he can get; Susan and Max, too. He spends a few minutes trying to come up with things he can do for them, but the whiskey’s still clouding his brain and he’s exhausted, and he figures for now just being here with Billy is the best thing he can do. So he rubs circles into Billy’s back until his breathing evens out in that tell-tale way that says he’s asleep, and he’s lulled to sleep himself by Billy’s warm weight pressing against him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :'(
> 
> I had a really difficult time writing this chapter, but I think I'm pretty satisfied with it?
> 
> I just want to throw a massive Thank You!! out there for all of you who have been following along. I know updates have become more sparse over the past month or so, and I'll give you fair warning now that they may be even more sparse in the coming month or two as I'll be traveling quite a bit and also moving.
> 
> I feel like the end is in sight now but I'm still struggling with how to tie everything up. So any feedback you have is greatly appreciated!
> 
> I cannot possibly express just how much all of your lovely comments mean to me. :) :)
> 
> As always, feel free to come say hi over on tumblr - [blahblahblaharringrove](https://blahblahblaharringrove.tumblr.com/)


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, bitch - I bet you thought you'd seen the last of me.
> 
> I have to give the biggest shoutout to my beta and absolute angel, Cala [(gayandnotinthemood)](https://gayandnotinthemood.tumblr.com/), without her encouragement and help I probably would've abandoned this by now. So if you thank anyone for the fact that this chapter exists, thank her. :)
> 
> This chapter is a bit on the short side, but it felt like it needed to be. Strap yourselves in for some more angst, lovelies. I'm not sorry.

Billy wakes up in a cocoon of warmth. It takes his brain a minute to catch up with his body, to fully register that the warmth surrounding him is coming from another body. He tries to open his eyes and immediately closes them again, the pounding in his head telling him that was a grave mistake. So he keeps them closed while he tries to recall what happened last night, where he is and who he’s with now.

He remembers sitting in Neil’s hospital room long after his father stopped breathing, waiting to wake up and find out it was all a cruel dream. That didn’t happen, though. The coroner came to take Neil’s body away and Susan made him get up - they couldn’t just sit there and stare at an empty bed. He remembers climbing into the backseat of the van and pressing his face to the cool glass of the window, listening to the quiet drawl of Max and Susan’s voices as Susan drove them home. He didn’t go inside the house when they got there.

All he could think about was coming home from the hospital with Neil after his mom died, the overwhelming silence that stretched out between the two of them as they tried to find common ground in her absence. The thought of going through that again made his stomach turn.

So he asked Max to bring him his keys and then got into his car and drove away. He remembers Max’s voice shaking as she asked him to promise he’d be back, that he wouldn’t disappear without warning again. He didn’t promise her, though, and when he saw the sign for 69, he seriously considered running. But all he could think about was the tears streaking down Max’s cheeks when he told her to go back inside, and the shrill “Billy, please!” that she screamed as he drove away.

He remembers driving around for a while, hoping it would be a good enough distraction; but no amount of Metallica at top volume could hold back the pain inside of him. Before he realized what he was doing, he was standing on Steve’s porch. He remembers breaking down right there, remembers how gentle Steve was as he pulled him in. It felt so foreign, on the one hand comforting but on the other almost painful - _unfamiliar_.

He remembers passing whiskey back and forth, the way it fogged the edges of his vision but did nothing to ease the storm beneath his skin. He remembers Steve looking impossibly pretty, all flushed from the alcohol, curled up on the other end of the couch, listening patiently while Billy spilled his guts all over the place.  He doesn’t remember much else, but he knows he must be at Steve’s place still.

He feels the steady beat of a heart beneath his ear and realizes his head is resting on Steve’s chest, and that the heavy warmth around his shoulders and waist is Steve’s arms. His own heartbeat picks up, skin prickling with goosebumps. He doesn’t remember falling asleep last night, doesn’t remember how they ended up here - why Steve is holding him like this.

He should move, should crawl out of Steve’s embrace and wake him up, or maybe leave before he wakes up; but it feels too damn good being in Steve’s arms. He’s not sure he’s ever been held like this, and he doubts he’ll ever get the chance again. So he stays, burrows a little deeper into Steve’s chest, tells himself it’s only for a little longer - just until the clock above the TV reads 10:15. He’s going to hold onto this moment for as long as he can.

It’s 10:08 when the front door opens and closes, followed by the low register of a man’s voice and the click of heels against tile. Steve’s parents. Billy’s eyes pop open and he looks around the room, head still pounding. Steve’s arms tighten around him as he shifts, trying to get up.

“Steve,” Billy whispers, face only a few inches away from Steve’s. He doesn’t respond. Billy shifts again, but stops abruptly when Steve lets out a little whine that’s decidedly not irritation. He’s managed to shift in a way that caused his stomach to press more tightly against Steve’s hips - tightly enough that he can feel Steve’s hard dick through his pants. The swell of his own dick in response to that does nothing to diffuse the heat licking it’s way up his spine and into his face.

“Steve.” He says it louder this time, and to his combined relief and horror, Steve’s eyes shoot open. He stares at Billy for several beats, confused at first, and then his cheeks flush as realization hits him. Something about the apprehension and embarrassment on Steve’s face feels familiar. A foggy memory of Steve’s lips pressed against Billy’s claws its way into his consciousness. Billy isn’t sure if it’s a memory or something he’s imagined doing so much that his hungover brain is confusing it with reality. Either way, it’s not helping.

“Your parents are home,” Billy blurts out before Steve can say anything about the position they’ve found themselves in. It works, because Steve finally releases his hold on Billy and sits up, while Billy takes the opportunity to roll off of the couch.

“Shit, sorry,” Steve’s face is the color of a beet when Billy glances back at him. Billy does his best to play it off, waving a hand dismissively as he looks anywhere but at Steve. He picks up the empty whiskey bottle from the coffee table and glares at it, the stale smell of the last few drops making his stomach roll.

“Better get rid of the evidence…” He says, shaking it to emphasize that it’s empty.

“Shit,” Steve repeats, nodding and taking the bottle from Billy. “Yeah, my dad’s going to freak.” He crosses the room and hastily shoves the bottle behind a potted plant as his mom’s voice trickles down the hall.

“Stephen?” she appears in the doorway a moment later, surprise crossing her face when she notices Billy standing by the couch.

“Mom, hey,” Steve responds, folding his arms over his chest. “How was the gala?”

“It was fine,” she answers, looking from Billy to Steve curiously. “I didn’t know you would be having company. Billy, was it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Billy nods, hoping his usual charm is coming through despite what a complete mess he is. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Likewise,” she smiles back, but it’s noticeably forced. “How is your father doing?” Grief circles its fist around Billy’s throat and squeezes. _How the hell am I supposed to answer that?_ He can feel Steve’s eyes on him but he refuses to look at him, refuses to confront the sadness and understanding he knows he’ll find there.

“He’s dead,” the words force their way out, landing awkwardly on the tension of the room.

“Oh,” Mrs. Harrington’s smile falls into a frown. “I’m so sorry to hear that. My condolences.”

“Thanks,” his neck feels stiff as he nods, and the pity in her expression makes his skin itch. “I, uh, better get going actually.”

“Yeah, let me,” Steve interjects, taking a few steps toward the door. “Let me walk you out.”

“Nah, man, it’s cool,” Billy grabs his shoes off the floor by the couch and heads for the hall. “I know where the door is.”

“Please let your mother know that if there’s anything she needs, anything at all…” Mrs. Harrington starts.

“Sure thing,” Billy cuts her off, offering the best summation of a smile he can, and lets his eyes finally drift to Steve for a second. He wishes he hadn’t, though, because he’d fully expected to find sympathy in the other boy’s expression, but he hadn’t expected to find hurt. He has absolutely no idea what to do with that.

“See ya around, Harrington,” he says, instead of thanks or any number of things that would probably be more appropriate in this moment, and walks out before he has a chance to see Steve’s reaction.

He doesn’t know where to go once he’s in his car. He’s not ready to go home yet, not ready to discuss funeral details or look into Susan’s tear-swollen eyes as she talks about what comes next. He would just drive around aimlessly for a bit, but his head is throbbing and he desperately needs a glass of water to get rid of the godawful cotton-mouth. Chief Hopper’s place comes to mind. He’d probably let Billy crash on his couch for a few hours without any questions asked. So he starts up his car and heads in that direction.

Hopper’s truck is nowhere in sight when he pulls up to the house. He shifts into park anyway, because he has no idea where else to go. He closes his eyes for a minute, rubbing at his temples in an attempt to ease the ache radiating throughout his head. He’s considering getting out and at least taking a leak in the bushes when there’s a sudden tap at his window and he nearly jumps out of his skin, eyes flying open and up to find Jane staring back at him through the glass.

His hand shakes as he presses the button to lower the window and tries not to outright glare at her.

“Scared the shit out of me, kid,” he says, and Jane just blinks at him a few times. “I didn’t think anyone was home.”

“Hop is at work,” she replies. “He didn’t say you’d be coming over today.”

“Yeah, uh, I…this wasn’t really planned or anything.” Billy shrugs. Jane nods and they sit there in awkward silence for several seconds.

“I was eating breakfast,” she finally says. “Eggos. Want some?” The last thing Billy wants right now is food, but he finds himself nodding anyway and turning off his car before climbing out. He follows her into the house and excuses himself to the bathroom to piss, then takes a seat at the table and rubs at his temples some more while Jane throws four waffles into the toaster.

“Thank you,” he says when she sets a glass of water in front of him and goes back to the toaster to wait for the waffles. By the time she’s bringing the freshly toasted stack to the table and sitting down across from him, he’s finished the entire glass. He looks down at the plate of waffles and feels his stomach lurch in response to the idea of actually eating them. He hasn’t eaten anything since the last time he ate waffles in this kitchen, and he knows getting something in his stomach will help with the hangover, but he’s not sure he can stomach it.

“Sad,” Jane says suddenly and he glances up to see a look of understanding on her face. He shrugs, not wanting to get into it, but her frown only deepens as she nods.

“My papa died, too,” she says and Billy’s stomach clenches uncomfortably again. “He was a bad man. Everyone says I shouldn’t be sad, because he was bad. But… sometimes I am anyway.” Billy watches her carefully for a moment, trying to figure out how to respond. He’s torn between being relieved that she gets it and being upset that she _gets_ it.

The truth is, Neil wasn’t always bad. There was a time when Billy used to sit by the window and wait for him to get home from work so that he could tell him all about what he’d learned at school that day. And Neil would ask questions and help Billy with his homework at the kitchen table while his mom made dinner. He has vivid memories of hot, summer evenings spent in the garage with his father, fixing up Neil’s old childhood bike, and then going out into the cul-de-sac where he taught him how to ride it.

They used to go to SeaWorld every couple of months, as a family. His mom had been interested in Marine Biology when she was a kid, had plans to go to school for it until she got knocked up and married Neil instead; her favorite thing to do was go to the aquarium. They’d get tickets to the shows, and Billy would sit on Neil’s shoulders so he could see over the crowd of people, while his mom stood close at their side, smile so bright it could rival the sun.

Things weren’t perfect, of course. There were days when Neil would come home, wound tight from a long day of work and Billy would ramble about his day like he always did until Neil lost his temper and told him to shut up. Every once in a while Neil would grab his wrists hard enough to bruise. Afterward Billy would sit in his mom’s lap while she rubbed lotion into the sensitive skin of his wrists and sang Moon River into the crown of his head.

It was on those nights that Billy was kept awake by raised voices on the other side of his bedroom wall. His mom threatening to leave while Neil reminded her of all the reasons she wouldn’t dare. How she would be completely destitute without him, how all of their friends and family would be ashamed to find out she was even talking like that. How she had no right to take _his son_ away from him.

Neil would be extra nice for a while after that, as if trying to prove that he actually gave a damn about Billy, and keeping him and his mom wasn’t just a matter of pride for him. Billy didn’t really understand all of that, until his mom passed away and suddenly Neil didn’t need to prove anything to anyone.

Billy doesn’t want to think about that right now, though. He wants to remember all of the good - curling up between his parents to watch a movie on Friday nights, working on science projects with his father, dancing to the radio with his mom in the kitchen while they waited for the cookies to bake in the oven. Entire Saturdays spent at the boardwalk together, his father’s laughter as his mom draped herself over his shoulders and whispered in his ear, hugs and kisses before bed. Being a _family_.

All the things he never thought he’d have again - and now knows he’ll never have again. Because his mom died, and things changed. Billy never expected things to be the _same_ , but maybe there was a small part of him that continued to hope they could be good again, in some capacity. That he would finally do something right and his father would be proud of him, and they’d find a way to be a family again. But now his father is dead, too.

He startles a bit when he feels warm fingers press into the back of his hand, glancing down to see Jane’s hand on his.

“It’s okay to be sad,” she says, expression as serious as ever. She stares at him with those big brown eyes like she can see inside of him. For once, though, it doesn’t make him uncomfortable. It makes him feel understood.

-

“You’ve gotta go home, kid,” Hopper said when he came home to find Billy curled up on the floor in front of his couch, watching the A-Team while Jane worked on her fifth attempt at a French braid in his hair. Apparently Mrs. Wheeler had been trying to teach her and she felt more confident practicing on another person’s head than her own. Normally Billy wouldn’t be caught dead letting someone touch his hair, but he was exhausted and she was a persuasive little twerp.

Turned out Hopper wasn’t going to let Billy stay without a discussion about why, and the last thing Billy wanted to do was talk feelings with the Chief of Police while his twelve-year-old daughter braided his hair. So he thanked Jane for the stale waffles that still sat untouched on the kitchen table from earlier, and headed for the door.

“I know what you’re going through, Billy.” Hopper said before Billy could make it out the door. “And I know how scary it is, how much you just want to hide from it, pretend it’s not happening. But it doesn’t go away just cause you avoid it.” Billy stood with his back to Hopper for a moment, at a loss for words. How could Hopper possibly understand exactly how he was feeling? This wasn’t just about Neil being dead. It was about the emptiness that his father’s death left in his chest, despite all the years of wishing him dead. It was about the question of whether or not he even had a place to go home to. Sure, Susan wouldn’t put him out on his ass immediately, but it was only a matter of time before she reminded him that without his father he didn’t have a place in her and Max’s lives.

He considered saying as much, reminding the Chief that unless he was also an orphan at seventeen he couldn’t possibly get it. But that would mean talking about his feelings, which he’d already made up his mind not to do.

“Go home, Billy.” Hopper broke the silence. “I’ll call Susan and let her know you’re on your way.” It was a threat, or maybe a promise. He wasn’t going to let Billy avoid it any longer. Normally that sort of thing would harden Billy’s resolve, set him off in a fit of defiance against whoever was trying to control him, but exhaustion numbed any anger he might normally feel. So instead of balling up his fists and telling Hopper to go fuck himself, he gave one nod and left, ignoring the itch to go literally anywhere else in favor of going back to his father’s house.

And now he’s standing in the living room, staring at the pillow folded up against the left side of the couch, still indented where Neil’s head had rested against it last. There’s a half empty glass of orange juice on the coffee table, next to the bowl Billy filled every morning with Neil’s myriad of prescriptions. Prescriptions that he was supposed to get refilled today after work.

 _Work._ Fuck. He was supposed to work this morning.

He walks over to the lamp in the corner and switches it off before heading to the kitchen. Susan is sat at the table when he walks in. She paints quite a picture with a stack of papers in front of her, box of tissues to one side, and a half empty bottle of wine on the other. Guilt gnaws at Billy’s stomach as he stands in the doorway and wonders what the hell he’s supposed to say.

“Billy,” she says, and there’s so much relief in her voice that he wasn’t expecting, her eyes soft as she watches him from the table. He hadn’t expected her to still be awake, hoped she’d be sleeping and he’d have another twelve hours before he had to face her.

“How are you?” the kindness in the question is like a knife twisting in his gut. It’s not something he deserves, after the way he’s behaved. Any hope of a response gets trapped in his throat, so he ends up shrugging instead.

“Me too,” Susan nods, glancing briefly at the stack of papers in front of her and then meeting his eyes again. “I’m glad you came home.” _Home_. Billy’s heart aches with the word. He forces the feeling down, chokes it into submission beneath his skin, and takes a seat in front of her, reaching across the table to pick up a piece of stray paper.

“What do we need to do next?” He asks, ignoring the curiosity in her expression as she watches him; he doesn’t really want to talk about how he’s done this before. “We need to go to the funeral home? Visit the cemetery, pick out a plot?”

“I scheduled an appointment with them tomorrow morning,” she answers. “It’s at ten, if you’d like to come.”

“Sure,” Billy nods as he shuffles through a few more papers absently, needing something to do with his hands. “Do you have dad’s rolodex? We need to call Aunt Jo and…”

“Billy,” Susan stills his hand with her own and waits for him to look up. “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s not your fault he’s dead,” he responds.

“No, not for that,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m sorry that I never protected you from him.”

“That wasn’t your job.” His response is a little sharper this time, defensive.

“Yes, it was,” she answers. “I was too scared to admit it, but I should have protected you. I know that I can’t change that now, but I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Susan,” he says firmly, despite how he can feel his hand trembling beneath hers. The shit between him and Neil started long before Susan ever entered the picture and there’s nothing she could have done to change that. It was never up to her to change it.

“Billy,” the way she says his name grates against his chest, makes him feel like he’s eleven years old again, sitting across from his mom while she tells him about her diagnosis. “I know I haven’t been the best at showing it, but I do consider you my son. I hope you know that - that you’re still a part of this family, your father being gone doesn’t change that.” _Family_. Billy doesn’t know what to do with that word, or the fact that Susan thinks of him as part of hers.

Susan is watching him with this look in her eyes, like she wants this to mean something to him, but all he feels is a sort of numbness to the whole thing. He knows he should be grateful, should say thank you or some shit, can practically hear his father’s voice in the back of his head yelling at him to show some damn respect. But his father is nothing more than that voice in the back of his head now.

So he nods instead, says “Okay,” and asks about Neil’s rolodex and Aunt Jo again. And Susan has the grace not to push it. They sit in the kitchen and discuss what needs to happen next until Susan starts yawning into her hands. It’s nearly midnight when she calls it quits and leaves the kitchen with a squeeze to Billy’s shoulder and a “Try to get to bed soon, okay?”

Billy nods, gathers the tissues from the table and takes them to the trash, lifting the lid to throw them inside. He stops short, though, when he notices the frozen bag of peas sitting just below the top of the bin. Emotion balls up like a fist in his throat, bringing a fresh bout of tears to his eyes. And for the first time it feels like something is being released from inside of him, allowing him to finally breathe a little bit again.

He tosses the trash inside and then pulls out the bag, ties it up and carries it out to the trash cans at the side of the house. He takes a seat on the back porch steps and pulls out a cigarette, lights it between his lips and puffs away as the tears continue to trail down his cheeks.

“Billy?” Max’s voice is quiet but it still startles him. “Sorry.” She takes a seat beside him and folds her knees up against her chest.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” Billy asks, and he means for it to be authoritative but it just sounds weak, exhausted.

“Couldn’t sleep.” She shakes her head, hugging her knees tight. Billy nods in understanding and takes another drag of his cigarette.

“I’m really sorry about Neil,” she whispers after several seconds of silence. Billy looks over at her, considers the intent behind her words as he thinks about the bag of peas sitting in the trashcan twenty feet away.

“Me too, kid.” He says, leaning over to bump his shoulder against hers, and then staying there, comforted by her weight pressed against his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oi. This chapter was rough to write, both creatively and emotionally. But I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are super appreciated. I can't express how many times I just re-read all of your lovely comments on this to help bolster my resolve to keep writing.
> 
> Come say hey over on tumblr, if you like - [blahblahblaharringrove](https://blahblahblaharringrove.tumblr.com/)


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